white and black anchor with chain at daytime

Boat? Rocked.

Each moment honed sharp:
Snow-bound. Ice? Found. 
Smoke ringed. Underground.
Red necked. Anxiety? 
Checked.
Big fish landed into
Small boat: rocked
Internal glad tidings
Of future sanity dreams
Currently out at sea. 
Here is a bottle for you
And me
And me
And me
Cast out, on message,
Saying "Save me!"
But there is no saving. 
Pull in the bottle
And shake out
The words on the paper.
"Love from San Francisco"
No North Beach Baby
Tender flesh pounded
Soft under rocks
And stones
And all those 
Good times that
Are merely
Bad times
Out on loan.

Hook it, thrash it, 
Land it..."Planned it
That way" I hear
You say.
No lucky strike -
It is like riding a bike.
Get back on it,
Skimming stoned
On the water line
That rises in the 
Teacup of my 
Discontent. 
Spoon? 
Bent.
Cotton?
Pulled.
Line?
Reeled out.
Fire?
Stoked.
Big fish?
Small pond.
Waves forming?
The gulf yawning
Wide to swallow 
Me whole. 

The boat floats
Lost and bobbing
Out on the Bay
Afloat for now
Taking on water
But not going
Under.
There is time to 
Ink and anchor
Me yet.
But not today...
Not today

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