He is the captain of shipwrecks, a brutal youth who
can’t read a map to save his life. He digs for buried
treasure in all the wrong places.
He sails through the staggering hills of the Pacific Ocean
believing that he’s climbing Mount Kilimanjaro and
refuses to set his anchor anywhere but the moon.
“These grim battles must be fought,” he says, “for the
gods of the forsaken, beneath whose mighty promise
our fate will be measured and weighed.”
He raises his tinfoil sword toward the sky, claims this
land for Spain and leads his men into bloody battle
for the love of Helen and her shimmering beauty.
In death there is no glory, just the grim squalor that
all futile gestures leave behind and the battlefield
is just a burial ground for broken arrows + dreams.
As the sun circles the sad blue sky he recognizes
that eventually he must leave the dock and put
away his newspaper sailor’s hat for good.
+ Depression has a way of unraveling even the
most finely crafted dreams and desires +
burroakfarms 