The Battered Vessel

As transported across impossible deluges I am loath to be guided by any such alarm | Pink-skinned pussies haven't taken yet to suck Back from birth | waters of beautiful colour Admittedly | my insouciance around this equipment | Moves as flames in crops of English cotton | When with or within fright we quit the trappings | These streams will let us down wherever we please In the furious comportment of the seas | II the other winter | malleable as a infants skull Ran away | and the promontories lunge into coasts Though no one cries of delights in these wins | This tempest ameliorates maritimes | Much later | a buffoon 11 dance in the flotsam About the stones of eternal victim hood | For ten nights | without regress or illusion | comes fallacy Softer and with quietude like infants at ices | The water is green as it enters the roots of pines And blue as spots of wine are vomited And wash me | rudder and hook dispersed And then I put myself in the way of this construction The sea infused with stars and luminescence That devours azure glasses or spent blemishes And dream a node of concentration that sometimes descends | Or I grabbing fists of this bruised delirium And hitching slow beneath the rudiments of day Stronger than is drink and vaster than lyric is | swath Ferment the amorous pigments of my love | I know these are skies that cry for clarity | for tropes Refashioned and current 11 know the evening Lobes exaltation further than they to Columbus Have occasioned to him so kindly versioned | I saw the sun | low in tack against some banal mystery Illumine the stretched figments of each colour And parade the actors of ancient dramas Through circular plots long before the frissons of aggression | I dreamt of a greenish night and ebullient snowfalls Kissing and rising slowly to the eyes of the water | The circulation naught but a severed injury A yellow levee and sad songs reverberated | I passed the plainer months with puerile gaucheries Hysterias hauled assaults and resolve Without showing the luminous pride of husbandry Puissance forced into muffled tidal poses | I ascended | you know | incredible states Mixed flower with the eyes of panthers and the skins Of men | the rainbows light as bridal tendons Over seas of herded glacis I saw the ferment of malaise | enormous nascence Whence we permit the total joke of the Leviathans Watery accoutrements addled with barnacles And the distances against such cataractic spits | Ice flows I money suns | nacreous floats | brazen skies Hideously stranded at the butt of browning bays Whereat the serpents gorge their various palsies Cogent as tortured trees | noxious with various gases | I wanted to show children these dryads In flat blue | gold positions | the poison rants The acumen of the flowers have bested my derision And infallibly broke my wing | for instance Often the weary martyr of placement and of place | The sea in the blood loft softens my ruling to Climb its flowers towards the jaundiced vault And I rest therefore again against a generic woman So nearer the boarding of the plank for quarrels At the birds' shit daubing clear eyes (I'd sailed to beyond my frailty of lines | The nodes recoil to descend on me in sleep) Or 111 boat lost beneath a strand of an apsis Flung clear of the storm into a flightless sky I in the monitors and the hand held ports Was not to be recast as a carcase over water | Free to fume and demonstrate a brimming violence I who pulled the sky as a form from a red wall Who holds exquisite comfiture for serious craftsmen The plants of the sun and the azure marvels Who grasps the trachea of electric limuli, The fuller floor | escorts to the faded hippocampus The freshening months creep and try and trick The skies | ultramarine | intonate ardently I who tremble | feels the ground of fifty places The ruts of Behemoth and tones of sepia maelstrom Eternally fidget and in the blue firment | Its enough to regret even Europe's oldest outpost Where I watch sidereal archipelagos and islands In the delirious skies that open into the traveller Asking of these the endless nights that you dream to leave A million gilded wings | or a futurous vigour True enough I cried | such abuses are narratives All the moon is atrocity and all the love is sun The space of love blows me up and resuscitates the boredom | You bitch of a busted quill | I am aching of the sea I wanted a wetted Europe | it's the blackest instant And frigid | where towards the embalmed modicum A child accretes the fullest complaint | lashes Some battered ship like the new wing may- I can't go on so languorously adorned | o illness Take your cargo from the broken backs | Never negotiate this pride with flags or flames Nor swim below the vision of a hull | [Author Affiliation] Michael Kindellan studied literature at McGill and Cambridge and currently lives in London, where he works in publishing and media. …

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