What weight does the darkness hold
Out on the open sea, amidst possibilities
Absolutely grounding the stars,
Which are essential for navigation?
It’s hard to tell with all these clouds,
And yet I’ve set sail, despite, for
Scheduled plans harbor more than immobility.
My drive makes little sense in the realm of miles per hour,
And so my land-legs must adjust
To running in the wake of depths uncharted
By means of any present index within the realm of the Now.
How quaint brown cow atop my bow-
Just let me sleep. Please just let me sleep.
But begging gets one nowhere,
And my wicked rest must wait.
I’ve got plans beyond the horizon,
And the further I press, the further I get from escape,
Till my means reach an end concerning this purpose
Unyielding to revelations, sprung up like a leak…
Where’s the duct tape?
Where lies that bucket-
That pail with which to bail?
Where on earth is the flare gun?
And where is my first mate?
God damn it, Fate…