There is no more room to wander,
within the wild, blue yonder.
All the skies and seas are dead to explore.
No new ports, forgotten resorts; a lack
of ****** shores for rich men to ravish,
in search of riches much more.
Sea-faring clime possessed on the backs of child,
rode as destiny manifest,
wrote during storm, through mild.
More words than shores coalesced.

But the words explode from me—
Like some powerful wave meant only
To wash things that should not be, away.
Every syllable hovering, quivering
At the corners of my mouth—
As they carry me to beaches where feet
walk less timid, walk with less freedom
than I could ever hope to possess.

If we must be in hope and wish for probity,
in the minds and hearts and waters at sea.
Lift from masthead our daughters and brides,
so they last instead until martrimony decree.
And when vows written in logs of Captain
are all we accomplish lead by sextant see.
All things are permissible deep in our dreams,
yet chapel bell is rung not by sexton, but me.

I am my own Captain—
Luring those splashing wanderers not to safety—
No,
I lead them to drown with me.
The extra weight needed, begged for
So that we may appear as a sixteenth century painting
Brushes stroked in the last sip of black tea
to mimic some reality
Ive only touched myself to in sleep.

We are agasp toward bottoms, and fall from heights.
Whereas one of us sinks,
the other heaves into dives.
We are without fathom,
as water stings our eyes blind.
Struggle, you cannot lack fight, it will happen
whether you wish.
We are both rats, a Captain between us,
forgoing a sinking ship.
You abhor tradition in lieu to survive.

Set it afire,
So we can watch from underneath
As through some television screen
The world we knew, we know
rise up in smoke to signal no one.

Ode to a Cough
😷
Ahem!

Oh cough, that small expression of relief
an echo of congestion in the throat.
A hack, ahem, that passes through our teeth
Emotion swells a lump that I may choke.
What calls thy siren to my attention?
A blockage thus, of phlegm, a chesty rasp,
or narrowing of passage void of breath.
The air about you holds itself agasp
I fear you are brought into contention
and brought about a certain kind of dearth.

A cuckoo lays an egg within your nest
and harbours you a master of disguise.
You tickle and tease, leaving me to guess
the nature of your lyrical reprise
To fear or not I ask you to discern.
They flee, they flee, at what you may become.
Such power, I can only show respect,
lying low, to elude your stealthy roam.
Who are thee to show such little concern,
to all the lives you wittingly infect?

Your path floats on an air of discernment,
moving forward a mutant in our midst
that begs me to doff my hat, your servant
and smell the poisoned scent that you have kissed.
Are you thus a never-ending terror?
What distance do you give for me to make?
Will your repertoire ever be enough?
The future holds such chances there to take.
I cannot hide my face from you forever
because sometimes we cough, sometimes we cough.