ship of fools

we forgive the sea
for evaporating in the future,
by naming every bubble
and broke-wave,
Forever
 
we cannot show bottle-bottom
fast enough,
raised in toast  
to folly
 
our beauty is frenzy
strolling at a leisure pace;
half formed from  
the absurd persuit of perfection,
the other two-thirds
a banishing by laughter
the sobriety
of its concept
 
every purpose
or point
comes after the accident
 
we choose to worship the source