Too many wine-dark seas need daily traversal,
And here the shipping forecast calls for rain.
The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
You can listen from start to finish
And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.
Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography:
Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.
Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
