Other people always seem on course,
Full Ahead to somewhere on the Sea of Life.
I am forever losing the compass
and forgetting how to drop anchor,
permanently adrift in an Other Place.
Occasionally I see harbour lights beckon
but their beams wax and wane in the fog of novelty.
they’re probably home to the Pirates,
the Pirates of Love.
I am better off out here alone,
amidst the rocks and icebergs and whirlpools.
But I still need essential supplies
and I have nothing to trade,
except for some shells which,
when placed against the ear,
whisper cryptic messages
from an Other Place,
just in case
are in an Other Place