sailors in a whirlpool
airborne vagabonds
slew through to you
through mean cracks between bricks
spaces that wear yellow jackets have no time
and time laughs at the pregnant day passing by
ahoy!
hoist your sail and come crash down next to the seabed
away from the laughing sun rays
in the dark of the mother’s penance
washed down with the warm rum
clinking clanking in the captain’s chalice
empty
the stars intimate no map
through the grooves they make in the warden’s eyes
so close to their violent centers
commanding
far from giving direction order
while the stench of my bothers
pools up towards their knees
no quarters can harbor my small whirlpools
lest the tongue holds shape for once
with no malice and no shame
alas!
the night’s tossing and turning on its bed make the sounds that color a road home
in tumult and a lake’s face on a cold spring morning
in fractal unison, the vagabonds laugh
© Engaisi Peter 2022. All rights reserved.
