“salt grist in grind mill.”

Yes, there are calm lagoons *and* seas of flame

with my bier riding their currents. Harbors

are for the loveless and shameful since shame

always turns away from love. Some rivers

and sludge will drown you, if drowning in sludge

is your kink. Here’s my boat, my flesh, which floats.

Until it don’t. “Blues like that.” Like this grudge

I keep with my humours and bile. “K’, totes!”

K? “Sea’s breast/ all unrest.” “From the dark deep/

typhoons reap.” Gimme monsoons soon and storms

that swarm and waves that breach. There’s no levee

this deep. No home. No sludge. Just grudge’s sleep

and grudge awake. Tote that twists and transforms.

K’. I’ve more than Queequeg’s coffin in me.