Pressing my head against my pillow I cast off
Setting out on the Gumo, my ancient hard-freyed vessel,
To search the barren littoral, the empty crested trough,
A night's catch here yields less than enough
Dreams to be grounded with my limp pestle
Once with freshened sail and soaring fo'c'sle
I claimed a dense corner of the tireless ocean
Trawling there scored lush night ideas, coaxed all
By unhurried slumber, sleep of joys, dropped by potions
Expertly brewed, with patient handwritten tassels
But sad cyclones having ravaged mast and harbour
Funneling off passage to the deeper seas of dreams
Forces the Gumo to trawl with tired listless ardour
For the weediest morsels bred in thin bony streams
The night theatre served up with stale catches picked clean.
@nepion_boreas17
