on the mainsail a few feet away…

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Captain There Are Doubts

The dour captain’s ship caught in an eddy at the strait.  His caravel gyres in the tepid water the flukes held by a god.

His mariners maroon him to certain depths as they cast off in uncertain seas.  Sirens call the sailors, singing: kiss us, kiss us, kiss us, please.

Scylla and Charybdis cavil about the  burnt offerings cooked medium rare, unaware that an albatross drowns in the starless fog with its millstone around its neck.

The Captain sends a mayday, the semaphore signals received by a blind man, hanged by the neck on the mainsail a few feet away.

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“A writer should get as much education as possible, but just going to school is not enough; if it were, all owners of doctorates would be inspired writers.”
—Gwendolyn Brooks

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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