stiletto crow - poetry show

Pineal Gland Wriggling For Joy

In front of friends or family, I assembled a model ship
(overseeing the adding of layers
and the spraying of a sticky sand coating)
then went on its journey.

I placed a cruel man on the snapped-together deck
and chickens and crows in niches.
The captain, feared, left his shadow in all the streets
of the ship. Even the living cabins weren’t off-limits
to the pony-tailed tyrant
though my guests did their best
to recline and act comfortable with cream clothes
and class.

The streets were deep and showed off the moon
like a stage.

The ship’s priest projected images of a dude past,
him sitting cross-legged in the audience for 1970s gigs
like Steely Dan and Captain Beefheart.
The crew ganged up on him later and accused his sexuality.
They were scapegoating him
for something.

His calm under pressure was a thing to behold
as elsewhere men were tortured on flimsy pretexts, one
of whom chewed off his tongue to survive.

The ship never arrived at its destination.