The Sea Peoples

No other graver matter

than a piffling presence

or a downright absence

of dialogue

than a definite pick

between null and void –

unfair to say the very least

on that damned old sea

yet even then there is our

leaning propensity

to steer downwind

right under the weather

where muted voices are heard

muttering of softened catastrophes

when we bailed out a leaking ship

with a punctured thimble

Attention! Attention! is cried

quite forgetting

the mere presence or absence

of ropes and pulleys

midst the roaring of the waves

we add insult to injury

tend to our wounds with handfuls of salt

furl the sails! is heard

unfurl the sails! is heard again

we don't know which order is right

or if we heard 'light' or 'fight' or 'night'

we sail on a sea of silence

we sail away

we sail a way

the wind howls and the sails,

half-unfurled in the confusion,

are off the barking gales

land ahoy! mirage ahoy!

daydreams pervade the wake

we ought not to drowse

there are skerries to be avoided

we ought not to

but our wakefulness is scuttled

by reveries in broad daylight

flooded by eerie sunbeams

– calenture on the prowl –

we have hearts of men nonetheless

stout hearts of men honed in deserts

sharpened on seas

bled by mad wenches

filled with bad rum and snuff

and now with rheumatisms

and prone to snuffling

ether does that to us

and under ether the least shard of light

appears as a dagger in the underbelly of the clouds

under ether the least drop of water

appears as a sky-engulfing sea

the least whisper a world-crushing typhoon.

Eager to make a name to ourselves

like the peoples of the sea back then

we had no other possibility

but to take to the ocean

and choose between the silence and the fury.