J ons-samizdat, an imaginary writer and storyteller
Close to the sinking, with its bell and knotted rope hanging and at once fluttering;
Quite in a mood of hopeless desperation;
A brave masochist, was suturing the emergency exit;
In the heat of the long night, the falling, the slithering ooze and wet water,
The sick dying, the sorrowing survivors could no longer hear their cries
Now they were heard on the halyard, where the driftwood trickled through,
Fragments of glass and whatever glitter, oarsmen’s girders, legs, trees and leaves;
Slithery strands of drag and hair knotted into barbed wire and watery trapwood,
As the imprisoned strung themselves up like those loins that were so capricious;
Eyes extended, ears popping, tongues wagging, long necks spread, mouths open,
Locked mouth, neck, fingers glued to jaws to suffocate every decible.
As the fire raged out of control and the slippery branches and roots twisted and slashed,
The lonely vessel finally ground to a stop: to be relieved of its hallelujahs.
Into the void there came an exhausted black.
Attentive and attentive, fully coming in;
Dare we close our eye, he interposes himself like the knight in the Snow?
With blue eyes and swept of beard, the whaler comes,
Sitting ocular in the blue sky…