Cloaked in the thick

Spring Fog ——

this island latenightsways

in the cold Atlantic


I myself am hungover

yet still haven’t slept

just as all the rest

(comforted minds)

stale beer memories


And from my lonely

Drunkhousetop, to my surprise

Brahms op. 83 swells —

for you, in (silent)


Mark me, Good Lord of my sleep,

God of the raging coast,

one of your saved ones

cast away, ever drunk as I might be,

on this great wink of


where even the stars bend

towards your laugh