Like sitting upon a sail at the storm’s peak,
riding its mastery, and black and blue artistry.
Underneath the vessel’s feet, it’s troubled us
to flip us end to end, to break its back. Pale
is the moon under many a gossamer sheet
of the criminal-clouds. The sun likewise quivers,
a sickly-green hue, as the seaweed, underneath
the careening boat, moves either...
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