The wicked rebellions I raise against the authority of her rule of distance
spooked by its weight into tavern talk about the time being at hand, the time approaching,
under cover of complete darkness from myself I raise against her wicked rebellions I discover later, too late--
Cloak this crime scene from the inner sight, quick research
the hastening of dissolution through chemical means or through the action of insect swarms kept in glass tanks for that purpose.
Naval spy ditty--
That last bit on the plank end is a lonely one I say
What to give up, what to give up,
harpoon or something poking, poking,
the devil either way.
The calm brief calms between the awful creakings of the winch and beams.