Master To No Oceans

Belation’s Cry — Sightseer’s Poems

By the lashing of the Old; The Varnish of the Present; The Gray Of My Smock Coat, I remain Further out to Sea

Blue stroking foam

An envy — afloat,

Something unspoken, yet forgotten

Is obeyed to be ever lost —

An Ocean full of tangents

Boundless Surrounds —

The burdens of this body

I-so-see, the filing of its sex

To current and currency —

I pay the rhythm, I’m caught wreck in the nets

This ocean pangs us a sullen

No longer safe for you or for me

For some things, even so little

Are lost, further out to sea;

Further out to sea, for me

Do I dare for her to see me smile?

Feelings like the fledging left in me before —

Further out to sea, she so saw me

All before, my friend —

Boundless posh

Violent is the song

That strides and pounds

The emptying surrounds

Who hurt it; who hurt thee

For a tale, unrevised?

For Cornmeal is never too fine a dish

When one has supple over their entire

Life on the minor grains of sand,

To swine and dine it ever to aye, that is before —

Further-far from me

Anon and anon

Away to its own notion of care and whines —

I am a drastic fop.

I am in service to it as much as it gleams

Service in me, by the bewitching usage of my

Words, in disuse, or to be read, I cannot be heard

For the use is utterly its own, to summit me freely

To that rampaging sea.

Boundless surrounds are the

Casting disaster of to afloat

Without a sail to steer the notes

That flop the turnsole body

On that envious sea —

I am in service to me, as much as the need

Gleams me to be —

As much as is in service,

Belatedly, I cry at the thin stripes

Which deeply caresses my foam,

Wanting not the ill of my shadow —

By that forgetting sand;

And if that isn’t an availing comfort,

How could I marvel, elsewhere?

Slumping to my shores, I’m sure to be sure!

That is where I am gray, to the elementary of my

Blue trousers, abutting the sands

By the roundness of knees.

Bent and merrily, I impart the scene,

Chasing the next imparter of this

Here story.

COME ALONG WITH THE DOCTOR’S NEWSLETTER

A CRY OF WISTFUL NATURES — POEM:

The Curation; Our Publication:

GOODBYE TO WAVES; A CHEEK’S REMARK — POEM:

As ever, Dear Reader.