D n D

 

The cage is a chamber of souls
bleating out history to a six pronged safe
has no intention to save
anyone, no intention at all and we
wont mind any bugger bar ourselves,
wealth, perhaps a small fellow or two.
The alarm blares, foghorn air,
success so close.
Moons bleed onto deckhands.
I contemplate moves,
we are locked,
stocked in a container
on a ship with thirty men,
set on our demise, hungover
or still drunk
and I know nothing of their wives
or unsettled debt,
used my breath
on something unnecessary,
or somewhat necessary, errand,
helped a locksmith right a wrong,
drew closer to that sky,
and on a fine, flat ocean,
surrounded by shifted ale
and giddiness of a guaranteed battle,
the master announces "until next time,"
We wash up mugs
and resume less interesting lives.