a rank, thin life I live
nothing to care for but myself
sea surge in a drowned mouth
capable of being what I do
This desire to be here
or to be there: all day
under sail, the money in
my hands, the fine moon
walking upon the sea…
I take leave of trouble
with a dinner of oats,
get one window to the sea
and another to the deck
like a king.
A fair fleet fell into vice.
Frigates did us in, broke,
creeping at the scuttle,
the sea exceeding us
in business and in bed.
Infinity makes
my head full.
I have been king
of the sea where
we drank and drank
till water was
the wish of all.
My mind is still
in the drink.
I bade adieu to a rose,
gave paper to a paper,
drank farewell and drank to one
that would have a place at sea—a seal
who had a great desire to go to sea—
and I went home and sat there
talking old, playing old
till it was time to go lay
in a fine urn.
Troubled with abundance of sea,
land going to water,
I rent a raft and eat tongue,
a fat joy in the chapel Chance.
I study how this day dissolved
without fire, sad in mind.
All things go to sea;
I went to fat.
All things wash to bed,
I cold and coughing.
In a painted sea, what to write?
A letter taking tomorrow back?
But we sat and drank till drunk
and began to talk foolishly.
How to change?
I drink drink drink, for I find
it puts me out of order
in the name of liberty,
king for a day.
How at sea he is, that monk!
Join with him and dine on herring,
chant and turn out to row
in a brave cup.
a field is in love with the sea
as a ship is with land
where will we make war
guided by lies
where finish the hanging
or withdraw
tomorrow is a lie
in many churches
ear to the street
I fall down the stairs of the sea