I in my difficult self confined

      I in my difficult self confined,
      A figurehead in any kind of weather,
      Amenable as inches in the spigot-spit rain,
      Feel the flesh fail, whisked to whim,
5     And the grave damned abstractions all 
      Add up to grim.
      My blunt body blown about,
      Pierced by ports who had swum seas
      Of moon’s blood shouldered to the prow,
10    I stand unblessed in the sun’s red crest,
      Dulled and chained to now by all 
      The maybe plagues.
      Forwarding my drowning right up to my neck,
      No matter the thrifty theft of the weather,
15    Guest or ghost or soulless guess devout,
      A watchman of rocks in the whiskey weather
      Full of wrestling reefs and wormy stars,
      I crack the crowsnest
      Of my pinnacled pride right down to the worsted prow,
20    Shifting the kissing sticks on the mute deck—

From the collection "Nobody Poems"

Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]

More information available on gregglory.com.