Down To The Sea
I bolted cans of beer one
after another,
a rickety bridge project
spanning rivers
of shame that found the
beckoning sea
(as all rivers must) my
silent plunge a
cannonball, blind shot
across the bow of a drifting
scow, bosun’s chair vantage
hidden high
among luffing sails, crew to
my captain,
Boswell to my Johnson, a
thirsty Chinese
Brother full to the very
brim, long hard pinch
to the bridge, sailors
ward against Fear.
I’ve given it up for good,
the sea. Tides
obey the moon in a keepsake
tea cup.
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