Tug

A single hair wobbles like a newborn/ I tug the rig through the bearing; the wind plucks the string at the anchor/ pitiless currents set seaweed adrift, and the ship has been nine months with crust, grease and brine. I chuckle // post-hoc; the oblivion, the mutiny. my scalp hauls and hauls out childish repetitions, until it plunges the sea's old heart, to hunger legacy as the rest of the godless vomit nostalgia. ************* ***** *** *** ** see this hair? all I can think about – is how this thing was growing for like 9 months, jus comin out of my scalp and you know it’s wobbly it’s like this – like a newborn baby… ya know? and ! my scalp is like Peter Pan! like the rest of my body’s gonna be like, long gone and it’s jus gonna keep on pumpin it out. Complete denial. Itskindafunny.