oh rip-roaring madame sea, our swim each day.
In your perennial churning tides I find,
my restless muse, that your whispered words say
what you discern deep in the depths of me.
When you release me to the biting winter wind,
and when the sun sighs that I am free,
only then can I write my poetry,
and for all eternity you see.
Draw the storm clouds down into the bay,
spill the pearl gull necklace
upon your wildest spume.
The aberrant gold of light upon my face,
to have and to hold, to know what I assume,
that there is no other way
for me to explain the coma that is life,
to grasp where the words come from.
Madame mystery sea,
I am now your slave.
But is it just a wet dream,
that you will ever be my mistress?