The tides and bodies of boats
Move both ways, into and out of sight
Like a sinuous line between the visible
And the light and the scrutable
A boundary that doesn’t block but bend
All stems to the sun. Dunes curve and writhe
Along the coast til the chaparel reclaims
The dirt from blast and draught
A constant redrawing of wind and shore
An endless line of mad surveyors
Eyeing and chewing and scratching
With lewd stares into the air
Something you can sink your molars into
At last, a blank expression, no, a bank one
Passed through with all of the currencies
Exchanging saliva, despite the prohibition.
We signed for a copy of the resurrection
So now we are the captain.
We call capitalism by its name
And then the shrieking starts
Someone broke a fingernail
Or an iron law and circulation increases
Heading round the cape where markets rip
Stumble and spill into bigger piles of assets
For some the terrible necessity of being underneath
The gameboard of the sea juggling
Its risks like gulls down the line,
Amigo amici, the opening Italian
And the end game a slurry of howling apes
Somehow the vortex looks best in plastic
Pants, in the spirit of dropping,
Called out, collapsing, Pierrot on a string
Vexed at the stasis of his garment
Who are we to check your pockets
Without your coy permission?
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