This sadness for no reason is a bad valve tapping in my truck.
I can’t haul until its fixed and I can’t afford the mechanic.
Some folks say I am a subtle beast fluttering gracefully from problem to problem
And solving them all.
But I think I am a broken machine of hair and teeth built in the last ice age.
But still here,
Feeling like an unsung song; never baptized in life or death
And awaiting the end like a long lost friend.

Buttress me as you have in the past against this onslaught.
Tell me sweet things about my broken machine.
Not lies. But truths that I can grab onto like a thrown life preserver.

The wind is picking up and this may be my last chance to get back aboard.
I can see the ghostly white hull disappearing into the twilight.
My craft: The one I fell off, is now sailing on without me.

Desertion caused all this.
An egregious abandonment that ate me up like a shark in one teethy gulp.
Now I am treading water in the North Atlantic
With a black cloud line on the horizon and no lee.
Send help immediately.