Stale airs stalled in a fetid grasp;
Wilting both body and soul.
Seems for years wishing on sargasso seas for even yet the barest breeze.
Without direction. The birds, the gulls, the albatross have left me to my fate.
Sweating life which I canpppp ill afford,
I pace this motionless deck.
Recalling, wishing the storms of youth. Then, at least, there was movement
In fevered dreams, I faced down gales.
On a dying ship I approached that shore.
The sun peels, cooking flesh, but here
not even scavengers deem to come.
