Vermin of a Lesser Sextant
It's a grand old boat-still quite reliable.
But from the darkness below.
A crimson breasted leviathan is clawing holes.
Deep into its starry soul.
She's quickly listing.
Vermin gnawing away at the sextant.
Panic is hastily jumping ship.
With the NorthStar stuffed in their bindles...
The loyalists are bailing water.
Hope garnished in salt and blistered.
Predators are slowly circling in.
To the sound of a cracked conche.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2021
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