Sails Rigged, The Ocean Roils

by Charles Farrell Thielman



Sails Rigged, The Ocean Roils


Scars stitched across the plains’ hardtack

silvered by the ragged light of a pure crescent

I stand on a cliff edge, blue highway turn-out


How did I get here. seeing this moon as she bare

shoulders her sequined robe above the jewels

of small towns. My thirst for salt fogs, waves


crashing against volcanic spires, rip-tide challenges

My high beams carve the dark, the neon of towns

I have blinked away needs, working overtime


shipping products to build what I want, this camper van

road tested, Minnesota’s rivers, lakes, dog watching

the traffic, cold stars arc in the music of darkness


jobs disappearing below the flung bets of bankers

Golden arches beam along avenues, on gulags

jungles, myopic mylar covers diversities, visions


Was it in the dreams of coal-crusted miners

re-surfacing with gold nuggets in their pockets

not seeing how bighorn sheep thread mountain edges


how their eyes reflect orchards, osprey

as rivers roll past dunes carved by gusts

Rip-tides incoming, see how those jetty


arms hold wooden ships, lanterns aglow

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