bring port to the table and mourn
on tall ships sailing through milk of wounded breast.
dull skies for dull ears as inherits the flesh of broken rib.
dark are the eyes of the shadowless sun with whispers of immortality;
stowaway Rats infused with confused monologue
stone of peach where lies beneath distant prayer
well hidden and trodden down with feet of naked grass
the sulking skeleton now featureless and void of temptation;
with silence among the ranks of the grieving sea
the touching paws of the March Hare with whistle and flute
sings in triumphant voice with the parting of Springs ways.
meek now, the wild mannered sprawl of unaccompanied despair;
ghosts of fish with butterbean soup and roasted jalapeno peppers
where grows the haunted fins of intolerance and upheaval.
beneath the ocean floor where hides stallions of the sea
rich pickings for the mental betrayal of insubordinate skin;
midnight waves from the healing hands of everlasting belief
the once blue whale now coated with an envious green.
bright now the star that shines through the vision of cloud
and bright now the eyes of entrapment and sudden grief;
bring port to the table
and mourn the beginning of all that is interesting.