Stars gone, God dead, the unknown
vessel drifted, hopelessly lost. Pounding
vessel drifted, hopelessly lost. Pounding
surf tossed her across deserted
waters, turning windward toward
waters, turning windward toward
disaster. Splintered hull bobbing, all
at once plunging, refusing
to come back up, she spewed drunk
& dreaming men, sprawled
in their cabins, into chaos & further
oblivion. No panic, no flailing arms.
Head tilted toward the swirling
surface light, the old
sailor tried to call out: nothing
save an involuntary gasp. Eyes
empty as they closed.
Was he asleep?
He wanted to roll onto his back
to wake up but descended
paralyzed into black, as if the sun
itself, unhooked from its golden
chain, sank extinguished
below. No up, no down, yet he kept
going–motion is actual–his ribs
cracked, his lungs collapsed
in the depth’s frigid embrace, unaware
of the other existence, the beast
feeding in the darkness, devouring,
like a squid,
at once plunging, refusing
to come back up, she spewed drunk
& dreaming men, sprawled
in their cabins, into chaos & further
oblivion. No panic, no flailing arms.
Head tilted toward the swirling
surface light, the old
sailor tried to call out: nothing
save an involuntary gasp. Eyes
empty as they closed.
Was he asleep?
He wanted to roll onto his back
to wake up but descended
paralyzed into black, as if the sun
itself, unhooked from its golden
chain, sank extinguished
below. No up, no down, yet he kept
going–motion is actual–his ribs
cracked, his lungs collapsed
in the depth’s frigid embrace, unaware
of the other existence, the beast
feeding in the darkness, devouring,
like a squid,
him. He lived inside
the whale’s belly, Spartan quarters
furnished via a catalog
of shipwrecks: the tragedy
of the Viscount providing
an antique glass-
enclosed bookcase, among
its hold Moby Dick (moderate
wear due to rubbing, some
tears), Three Men
in a Boat (binding shows
minimal use) & The Rime
of the Ancient Mariner (dust
jacket missing, slight
damage to spine); the doomed
Essex bequeathing a braided
rug embossed with a 19th
century schooner; the harpoon, displayed
with irony on the abdominal wall,
gobbled up easy as lime
sea foam when the Lorelei went down,
taking a hundred good men
with her.
One day a pine
box washed up with a crow as big
as a man inside–a portent
of death, the old salt thought, but as it turned
out, the bird proved an entertaining
conversationalist, well-versed
in philosophy & politics, as well
as a skilled chess tactician who’d
play hour upon hour losing
nary a piece, bishop &
knight breaking, ever
& again, the gray-haired sea-
dog’s flank. In matching wing
chairs, they sat long
into the evening, asea
in complex stratagems. Ticklish,
the leviathan snorted when
the crow plucked a long, elegant
quill for the old gob, who, lighting
a meerschaum recovered
from the Lusitania, jotted
down his wry observations.
For instance: Whale-ness
equals wholeness. Or: It always smells
of fish around here, but on the bright
side, we never run out of oil.
the whale’s belly, Spartan quarters
furnished via a catalog
of shipwrecks: the tragedy
of the Viscount providing
an antique glass-
enclosed bookcase, among
its hold Moby Dick (moderate
wear due to rubbing, some
tears), Three Men
in a Boat (binding shows
minimal use) & The Rime
of the Ancient Mariner (dust
jacket missing, slight
damage to spine); the doomed
Essex bequeathing a braided
rug embossed with a 19th
century schooner; the harpoon, displayed
with irony on the abdominal wall,
gobbled up easy as lime
sea foam when the Lorelei went down,
taking a hundred good men
with her.
One day a pine
box washed up with a crow as big
as a man inside–a portent
of death, the old salt thought, but as it turned
out, the bird proved an entertaining
conversationalist, well-versed
in philosophy & politics, as well
as a skilled chess tactician who’d
play hour upon hour losing
nary a piece, bishop &
knight breaking, ever
& again, the gray-haired sea-
dog’s flank. In matching wing
chairs, they sat long
into the evening, asea
in complex stratagems. Ticklish,
the leviathan snorted when
the crow plucked a long, elegant
quill for the old gob, who, lighting
a meerschaum recovered
from the Lusitania, jotted
down his wry observations.
For instance: Whale-ness
equals wholeness. Or: It always smells
of fish around here, but on the bright
side, we never run out of oil.
--Matt Morris
From Walking in Chicago with a Suitcase in My Hand
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