spook

three sheets to the wind

splice the main brace and batten down the hatches!

lost at sea

I do not exist, but faithfully insist

Sailing in our separate ships

and from each tiny caravelle

Tiring and trying there's unnecessary dying

like the horseshoe crab in its proper seasons sheds its shell

Such distance from our friends

like a scratch across a lens,

made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood

and our paper blew away before we'd left the bay,

so half-blind we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood.

-mwY

oak

blue

birds.

protista

Introducing the Stentor Brothers