In horror of the groaning of the reef
At one more wave’s repetitive onslaught,
I listen to the outboard for relief,
A healthier racket than my jangled thought.
You there—do you cognate in straight lines?
Do thoughts follow each other, hand in hand?
Or is it that your insight’s without spines
Like a sea urchin’s skeleton on sand?
Vanilla life, vanilla in your veins,
Uncomplicated, unexamined days?
If only I could tender you the reins
To my life, could I sail through the quays
Untroubled, hoist martinis to the shore?
I’d give my soul for your white bread rapport.