Impiraticism

As that inkling recedes into the mist,
beneath the surface another shadow
ship lurks, crewed by a loutish lot,
unable to rise above their depths,
seeking only to drag all other sailors
Down

The ship’s wake creates crazed eddys
that send any who cross them into an
endless enthymemic query. They only
need to sit and wait. They know that gob
in the aether above is but a drowned man
Walking

See how often he hangs over the rail,
peering into the deep below like the seer
gazing into her crystal? Already in their
brainless skulls they are dancing on his
chest, guzzling rum, and singing,
Yo Ho Ho