I rode down and out a stream in a patched up canoe
with my hands full
of the fruits of the tree that lent me shade.

The waves crashed in on the planks that bandaged my boat,
and yet I thrust ahead
nosediving into the storms that broke the air.

In went balls of breath as reserve for my lungs
and I readied my body to stop for life
but the unphased beast looked deep into the purgatory,
the heart of death,
and lunged and leaped
like a tired laborer at his bed,

For how can a monster up in flames
ever be contained
by the pull of a dead sea?

It dove below and then asunder
and the mouth spat out water
and the heart started with courage every moment
all to see the bull come closer to crashing
into the gut of the matador.

Hell isn’t a dead end but a raging beast
and I became a hell to feed my body
a passionate feast.
Yet the canoe contained my daydreaming
and stayed together still.
Unmoved chaos and shallow waters.
Reckless spending and unpaid bills.