ONCE WERE
I toss
and turn
missing beat
after beat
my bed become
a boat as
dream
metaphors go
battling to cross
plough its way through my
turbulent ocean of sleep
my covers
in some kind of
cross-current, horribly ruffled,
exposed
on the deck, naked to
every
cold wave
Odysseus, Nemo,
Ahab, Columbus,
Nelson, Yamamoto,
so many
names out there
embodying saga
of the seas
and much in the laity
still massively oceanic
memory still vivid even
if we left
so long ago
content
in this format of
our evolution, to skirt
and dabble, surf,
paddle
unless
where we ourselves become
denizens
become the monsters
from the sea across
the sea we fear.
poems 2 die for 