Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Whether driven by sail or the labour of oars,
     she was crime who destroyed it, this broad barge broken
     in the bile of pirated pause thunder spilled forth,
     taking down a diet of words thrown over when
     she emerged, this bitch of a storm Fate paid perverse
     silver coward moonlight pilfered; it’s the cost men
     no braver had to ransom in another sea,
     in another era, when (t)error ate debris.

Eating of infamy, their albatross-wide sores
     opened to take in salt, since the sea’s mouth filled them
     who went down it, the source of maternal flavour
     drying their tears as it nurtured deep from within,
     caverns of stomachs pitted out, fears drawn nearer
     to the surface, perverting all their names taken
     by an amanuensis hand dark charity
     forsook, taking a census of suffering’s fleet.

This is how the let-down feels, increasingly worse
     each time salt-dried truth lines the frayed noose it tightens,
     scratching the throat, blowing out dust to reinforce
     their dread chorus of, “I’m Not Interested, Man”
     played loud when, “I’m Into Women” needs an encore
     and the crowd goes rabid, ready to eat again
     this little heart harpooned by the wailing party
     failing to recognize new opportunity.

Weather driven by failure, this labour of ours
     draws affection, of course; tropical depression
     ignores all warnings and pours out onto far more
     alluring flesh, intemperate propositions
     unfruitful and unreturned, since spurned taste prefers
     to let go to waste its lush craving, tiptoeing
     around us throughout our lives, laying a trap we
     never miss, drawn into it like fruit flies blindly.

In hindsight, we could only ignore its great force,
     this white hope blighting us with its cure heaven sent
     as an antidote to this curse, since teenagers,
     we have had to endure; wanting bad to become
     wanted by the others, those guys who have never
     attempted to understand what makes a poem,
     or had the foresight to inform themselves of needs
     we all have for other halves, not just the lonely.