Bottled

That boat.

It has been out there in the bay

For near on a week now

Whatever for?

Why can’t it move?

Stuck to glass

Uncounted freight

Treasures await

Well so might souls be imagined.

And that woman

Everyday she is out there

Walking her day

Climbing her engorged frame

Up that hideous hill

In her hideous pajamas

Bulbous thigh over bulbous thigh

A new fifth in hand

Barefoot, rose nose enflamed.

My guts are sore

Waiting

It is soon to happen

Those things will fall

To start again

Self stuck within

Longing to break out

Effervescence delayed

Foreboding is a wait of fate

It is about to spill over

Shaken to the very core

Nothing released

The space is filled

The hodgy podgy dodgy

Nonsense of a being compelled

To report on nothing

Yet there it is to be revealed

When will it come free?

That boat

It is blocking my view

I want nothing between here and you
My word horizons.  Go.