Rhymes with Voyage

Day 2, 5:05 a.m.

I awake to blackness and make an equally thick pot of coffee, void of any color. I’m trying to decimate some foggy dreams filled with whales and mermaid tails, tempting me into the deep.

This poem pops out of me before my water begins to boil, and I think it’s a song now … maybe the first of many I’ll write on this boat.

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“Siren’s Shoes” ink sketch, © Vaughan/2013
got whiskey, wool
to keep me warm
where are the arms
in this storm
to shelter me
free from harm
so I sleep
me down to lay
below the covers
beneath deep bay
should it turn
my chest of gold
to sink me down
a vest of mold
I’ll reap the sleep
a pirate owes
to those he’s tossed
and true he knows
that in the last days
of our voyage
there’s not a fuck’n thing
that rhymes with voyage
(Macbook Pro 13″, internal mic, Garage Band, 10/13©David Vaughan)