I'm on a cruise ship, and I'm wearing all white
i can no longer see land but I can hear a dog panting
I open the closet door and there's the dog
his tongue is hanging and his legs behind his ears
he lunges and latches onto my throat
a red stream trickles onto my trousers
and the sun sets

the midnight buffet. I walk in and everyone stares
my neck is pink, from the sun
shrimp after shrimp after shrimp
they fall out of my throat
the waiters walk by carrying trays of skewered olives
the olives are my eyes and I am drowning now,
beneath the boat, through the steam room
sweaty, hacking hammers, workers turned to coal

But no, back up, through the barracks, and the carpet
I'm in this room, my throat is fine, I'm full of shrimp
and olives. i kiss the waiters shoes and they shine like never before
he kicks the dog, who squeals, and my throat is gone again
and the floor is full of shrimp
and swimming beneath it all in the near empty sea, somewhere, there's a whale
filtering a crowd of krill through his thin teeth
he grows fat and is turned into oil, lighting the lamps in the dorms
the oil, all over the floor, and rats, covered in the stuff
like little whales, their fur matted, their eyes bright and beady
like two bearings, like shrimp, mine green, mine red,
mine matted, and pierced, yes I am an olive
skewered, resting in a martini on the captains bar
he steadies the stem before lifting the glass
knocking it back, leaving only one olive
and now I am his drunkenness as he
hobbles onto the outer deck
still white, and I am the leaning on the rail
but not the moon reflecting in the water
and not his reach for the moonlight
but I am with him as he falls (with his throat)
to the sea, and falls slowly beneath
the surface as the moons shine fades
a darker blue, darker still, till black
but no I am on the carpet, blue, in the dining room
on a captains ship, full of shrimp, all in this room
some pink still but headless, some already a frozen grey,
and still with their mouths and bearing eyes
like rats, but more black, die wassermaus
can you smell where we're headed? thats trash island
thats the frozen square. like a jellyfish, we float around
through icebergs and pittsburgh, lone 4 by 4 islands
with palm tree, two coconuts, and a bearded man
SOS ship, the burning fronds say, the fronds are prawns and
prawns shrimp, krill even, and we sing, sink, then swim
along to meet our captain, a relic at the bottom of the sea
sinking along with the anglers and the steam of the earth