S.O.S.

S.O.S.

One ordinary day
After rough and tumble torrents
Of uncontrollable
Tsunami pourings

A glass bottle floated on by
Above submarines kiting on high
In the sea of voices shouting
Old oxygen’s soft carapaces

To be corked with pressure
By instinct and stifled
Only then written an S O S
Waiting out all who pass rest

Not the message inside
Red ink inscribed
In an old bottle of coffee soda
Smelling script by old loads of

Promises seen by the sea
Of dreamscapes and nightmares
Slinking along in the waves
To be picked up sating craves

Sequitur Sabot Simulant

Sequitur Sabot Simulant

Do you know
What
It means

To see the sky below,
Sea above,
Port rotors limbo

Seeing the
Sharp wing
Lanterns.

Floating in cascades.
Going vertical,
These mercury storms.

Solar wind.
Pulled rails, by
Fractal whales.

Sitting
In the crow’s
Nest,

Spying
With an
Eyeglass,

Perpetuated
On rope and rigging
Masted,

Over
Great walls
Piloted.

Through fjords
And valleys
Steered

Billowing cloud
Fields
Under, sealed.

Fearless into fog.
Captained
Above bogs.

No end
To
Supplies,

No cessation
To
Sailing.

Seeking
The
End.

Wherever,
However,
Whenever

It
May
Arrive.

Campaign

Campaign

High spirits
Today
Evil ones
By midday

Please give us a real excuse
To campaign system abuse

On the open
Byway
We will hear your
Hearsay

Please give us a real excuse
To campaign system abuse

Have you been to
North Korea?
They like you have
Ill ideas

Please give us a real excuse
To campaign system abuse

We on this voyage
Are old hands
No new blood
Will kill our plans

Please give us a real excuse
To campaign system abuse

We at the wheel are a
Valiant few
Driving the will us
Rowdy crew

Please give us that one just cause
To uphold our campaign’s laws

Legion Corsairs’ Welkin

Legion Corsairs’ Welkin

It’s a crime
To pass you by
In my sept-ballooned
Airship zeppelin.

Why would I not
Stop in,
Weigh anchor,
And say “hi”?

Standing on the deck
Above in the air, a tiny speck
Of nets and rigging and rope,
Peering below through periscope.

Rough-hewn glass cradled
By iron pipes and wooden casks
All sailing along the air,
We have no country to declare.

With a galley beneath our feet,
Staving off scurvy with salted meat.
Fishing line out for birds overboard.
Eating only what we can barely afford.

It’s a punishable offense
To not let down my defense,
And lower altitude to weigh anchor,
Letting go cargo of precious amber.

On the ships of our fleet
We like to think ourselves elite
As propellers turn and rotors whirr.
Gods of places, no matter where

Stand atop our low zeppelins
Above oceans, as fueled weapons.
Stopping only for cargo,
To drop off and collect it.

Amber quarters and opal medicine,
Wasp nectar, diamond exoskeletons,
Vials of ink and court trial evidence;
All ferried by the men commanding it,

Mining it, and shielding it
From pirate and navy brigades.
Transporting it and enjoying it
In every order of our day.

No, the real crime would be to
Pass you by;
Depriving you of fun to be had
With me in my restless skies.