Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

lush veneer of drifting deep blue water
and your hair is like the sargasso sea
an intricate web of life much farther
from land than water.
portugal says the
curlyheaded girl is the kind of nest
i'm going for. and kept, snared in that
trap with scooby and shaggy and the rest
who walk across that legend seaweed mat.
a pirate ghost what plays the harpsichord,
dissembled wrecks and forgotten fleets with
any other lost at sea in a myth.
as fish and eels-come-home call: all aboard

to any vacation that breaks the bank
far enough from land it cant be a prank.
and your hair is like the sargasso sea
tangled, adrift, supporting existence
among the weed. i can walk in nascence
from wreck to vessel, myth to cautious lee.
drifting ellipse. turning calm of ocean
and shaggy wants to play a game
of poker for any snack i can find.
all there is on the nearest hulk: motion,
treasure and kelp called breakfast. what a shame
says shaggy (counting cards) three of a kind.
fuck the ghost. i'm hungry. dont these pirates
ever eat? how bout rod and reel i say
and neon lines. eels and dolphinfish and plates.
we'll burn a hulk to boil our scaly prey.
the motion mentioned is water, is tides
is ocean. open and less than jagged
like a cutlass slice. calm motion pervades
and your hair is like the sargasso sea.

c'mon shaggy i cant stand to be begged.
like, fly fishing in the bermuda tri-
angle? he says. man i cant wait to see.

(the ocean is hard to keep your hook dry)

we'll eat tonight even if it is fish.
that's shaggy again. this time he succeeds.
he knows how to cast and quickly fills his dish
with what swims among the fertile waterweeds.

if atlantis rose one day this is where
it surfaces like rides at the county fair.
old harpsichord played by a pirate ghost.
blue or black or red beard. some color sailor.
baited net of music. another tangle
in the weeds. a theme for the triangle.

the tune lends an air. song like a tailor.
ties up rigging and patches sails. the most
you can ask for from a pirate's melo-
dy is magic fit to sail a clippership.

and such turns this tune. notes to wake each wreck
seem to make every vessel echo
with intimate sounds that resemble lips
that sing harmony as from evry deck.

and your hair is like the sargasso sea
with secret songs you put a spell on me
5 trees lost at sea. trunks and sturdy
limbs, long floating, come now to rest in weed
tangled, bound and gagged, like in a dirty
picture or magazine. for sex: plead or bleed.

and your hair is like the sargasso sea
where things without course tend to congregate
where words like driftwood and jetsam, easy
nautical appellations, come to the plate.

the spiral, cyclical notions that he
produces casting for a well-mannered
snack are contagious and continuous
through shaggy's single desire. and the
necessary motion of other ideas ensnared
in this ragged sea is stark and curious.
me and shaggy make a pile of shit we
hope to burn. some way to turn up the heat.
most everything in the ocean is soggy.
i hope this spittoon will do. says shaggy.
seawater and kelp squishing at his feet.

and your hair is like the sargasso sea
tender turns of metallic drastic curls

yes we get the fire to go despite
an abundance of wet wind that unfurls.
double double and insistent words of care
brought to a boil on a fire: heat and light.

one for you. two for me. shaggy says again
one for you. two for me. is always fair.

eels and fish-come-home swim the spittoon and grin
one skeletal wreck that stands with less of
a listing angle than other members
of this lost fleet of compromised vessels.

this one house the harpsichord above
all other objects of value and treasures.
the music, tune, magic escapes portals
and saturates this neglected region.
whether found or lost this weedy legion
arranges itself and sings along.

and your hair is like the sargasso sea
tangling me like noodles on silver prongs
turning to the next note which is the be-
ginning of what came up so quick before
marooned on a wet world of myth or lore.