We’re gonna do this again?
You want to, and then,
That meticulous pull on my yester-sin?
We into shipwrecks tonight?
You’d need a ship-wright to understand.
Don’t flail if you can’t stand
On the beach of back-then;
My chagrin can’t be your pirate-den:
To sate you, I’d be shaved-of-brow—
So, I string the sail.
I could fail, and you can wonder-when—
But it arghn’t gonna be now.
Poetry: Air and Water, At Least