Shipwrecks and Phases of the Moon

Our week was weak in the knees,
as we walked down the pier to peer
at the onlookers rubbernecking the
twin crashed boats of career and
social life as they begin to sink,
the rats in the galley glancing through
the gallery to pick out their favorite
illustrations of three blind mice as
they waded through the rising waste,
their waists widening on the floating
remnants of revenants and bits of
cheese until they realize, cheesed
that the ship won’t be resurfacing
for air anytime before the moon is
resurfaced and the scaffolding comes
down, horse, workers, and rats, et al.


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