Gills Of The Shark Ventriloquist

Gills Of The Shark Ventriloquist

A Poem by S. B. Fosy

Gage was a pirate wearing red flags,

Hunting great herds of squid and brain coral,

Selling his catch for bottled intuition in translucent green-scale casings.

He drank and he sang and he spilled and he wretched

At the sight of his starfish-infested crew,

“This must change, before the woodwork turns to sponge,

Every man on rail, drop from the nest to the layered sea,

Cast these stars from the galaxy!”,

And one by one the crew would crash into the surf and the shimmering algae

Sheets masking the great mouth of the world.

Shedding skeletal shavings and caviar,

Slowly floating upwards,

The Galleon Abigail would swing around and catch the wayward in the sails,

And they would settle to the deck and spread calmly

Like the moss between the hull planks was want to do in the Caribbean springtime.

“Coat the anchor in oil so a titan of the brine may eat it,

And we can cut the fry and be the oasis of the sea once more!”,

Fangs, and the greatest ray you ever saw sprawled across a finely shaped

Cross-section of the brightest wood the Mediterranean nations could offer,

Gold and silver flagons and cups, a table for thirty men salted and stained and dented

With the rags and blood and sabers of the lichen captain Gage

And his contaminating band, singing songs of the water gods.

Swinging around the side, hatches shaking off the powder

As they spring open, spears and harpoons engulfing

A nautiloid submarine, breaching, glowing with deeper green

Eyes the size of gas giants, just as formless and black in the core,

Ten thousand hulls plastered to the shell.

Fluorescent dreadnaughts of every color amass where the light dies,

Pulsating ultraviolet jetting plasma, swallowing anything

That sinks to them, bones, gold, cannonballs,

The hooks and all of the line on the reel

Disappeared as soon as the surface was pierced,

And so the silkened steel nets were drawn at night when the moon was new,

Where the flats had been long abandoned by the catfish and crabs.

Age is no bitter enemy, but an enemy nonetheless,

Blood in the water makes for a quicker solvent than any salt or juice,

Foam settling into the sand, seabirds digging clams,

Abigail would break the red morning sky

Like the coming storm had done to the greatest fleets history had ever born.

Staring down over the edge of the map,

Into the grand pool where every river runs out and every waterfall crashes

Down louder than the whales breaching the thunderheads,

“With damnation sure to be ahead, and behind us the raging breath

Of the world, make your peace my friends and find lives anew!”,

The spray was violent as flying shattered glass, the dew, sweeter than honied wine,

Maybe flowers were better treasures than they knew.

Wrapped in red flags, Gage found death, and with it he was soaked,

“I will never find rest within the jaws of my greatest thrall, instead,

Bury me with no tears, on an island with no name.”

© 2017 S. B. Fosy

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Added on November 2, 2016
Last Updated on May 5, 2017


S. B. Fosy
S. B. Fosy


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