Whitewashed in our Cuban spats and pale fear we watch the ocean go under the snapping prow of Rigor Mortis, our rented sailing vessel pulled by shrouds across the immense sea, gem-green. 5 Coke cans leap the rail and bleed soda to the waters.... "Life is a sequence of sequential events," you say, and nod, loosing the popcorn that noosed our tilting Xmas spruce in a hash of fish-lines. Candles in seashells nod and glow and go out; 10 a final star drops from the clipped sky. Our neurotic engine stutters out on windy rocks.... Time, the big boat, heaving its heavy carcass westward everyday, drags its smashed golds nearer, throws a line, and hooks us safely into port.
From the collection "Red Bank"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.