A Pirate Playing a Fiddle with an Axe between His Knees

Pealing, I am

Gloomy skies

And

Toothy grins as

They hold hands.

 

My eyes travel the scars,

Making reflections

In a traffic jam.

 

The components of a sad film:

 

Where my neck meets bristle

And my heart shifts ribbon,

Placed out to communicate—

Pockets of drowsy-handled glass—

An engraved testament to flay.

 

Horsemen push off the crests of waves:

 

A dripping unmans me,

Lands wet somewhere;

A whale sounds, nigh.

The materials of inertia.

 

The misty grey of morning, words come halting.

 

Head tilted to dark water,

To feel the far-off release of her:

How easy it is to leave me.

 

Paint in the water, sediment, laid down, rested head.

 

Empty stomach-retch,

Womanly specters,

Across a dance floor.

 

My brother mourns with his eyes.

 

My heart cramps a little;

I watch the world shift,

Stumble around deck,

Drunk and tripping on shit.

 

“How best to capture this?”

 

Pour myself more strong drink.

Leave evidence at the bottom of this.

 

Falling over,

A mess,

A firmly gripped

—but naïve—

Apprehension.

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