Still Dizzy After Our Fall

Still dizzy after our fall, ears ringing with fear, Crammed in a hole we dug with our hands, We toss away moments of galloping rage, Scattering secrets we once kept to ourselves, Suave as the wind, a gentle breeze on our breath, The stale stench of liquor blown out to sea, We sigh and surrender to a flogging so sweet, We barely take note of the scene that unfolds, As our blood slowly boils and drips in a stream Onto the planks of the deck down below, A crimson puddle licking our feet, Our flailed carcass once again strapped To this tallest of masts, bound to our word, With an odd bit of luck, we make out to see The fruit of our labor bobbing on waves, Bloated fish that have died and now rot in the water, Cooked by the sun, this uncouth bouillabaisse, A stew so putrid, a taste so foul, yet a feast for the gulls Screaming above (and the sharks scheming below), Till our minds churn and vomit such figures and words As no tempest or storm could ever withhold. We swim, swim, and swim, but die on the shore.