navy

The logistics of existence get twisted up in the fallacy of the sea.
Many empty portholes shielded in apathy,
behind them the sailors coil the ropes.

Silently moving across the deck
Executing the proper movements
Performing practiced gestures.

Working slave-like, manacled to bonds to which only they hold the keys.
Only those who belong on deck are allowed the privilege of cool sea air.
Sullen eyes roll upward as delicate fingers raise cigarettes to painted lips.

Exhale and toss your head.
One could easily learn the tricks of the trade.
Effortlessly, I too could become a sailor,
My head hung in mock depression.
White teeth shining in a pseudo smile.

The ship is upset into an ocean of reality and here are the sailors. . .
Clutching at the wreckage of their pretensions,
Drowning in a sea of hypocrisy.