An Attempt to Tip the Sea

by Noah MacKinnon

A staircase in a hallway, that was protruded on the South Bay
The gales of a dark grave, followed by a dull haze
Pulling from the remnants are sluggish descendents
Of a chocolate memory, where people lived gracefully
With a violent charm and a crack of a bull whip
It was then that I heard the sounds of music erupting on the beach
It was an attempt to tip the sea, the waves rolled over backwards
Starting from the sand carrying out into the deep
I saw the sights of New England worship mixed with that of the naval warships
Canons of impertinence were firing on the descendents
Who worshipped the fragrance of dullness

sleeping on the futonatu

Wondering where life went,
Perhaps it never appeared or it passed like a sail in the cold breezeee!
But this is happiness, this is remembrance,
Of a hollow child who slept on couches
Because beds were overused, and mirrors were reflections of a lake
That produced false images, followed by a daydream
Appetence is my sulking mellowness

who hears the cries of fortitude?

Slappin’ on the day shift of a popular nift, who longs to be accepted by the family
But she is a simple bitch, and they do not get accepted into the twilight of a harboring evening
But instead pushed to the side of a gutter filled with sea salt and sand, fermented in sallowness

Yellow bits and rancor snips, who wants to see the harbor ships?
They’re lined up on the beaches like empty buildings or ghostly pits
With tarnished metal and barnacle nicks
I stood feeling absurd in the hollowness, but I pushed out with solaceness
I was struck immediately with vagrants, who were hiding amongst the wrecked ships
They were sprinting to find happiness,
I was moved with their persistence, but troubled with their happenstance
They rolled over the waves and swam to distant shores
They wept as the salt rendered their eyes useless
For they could only stare so long, as the water turned their childish bones cold
They swam with joy, they swam with fear as the first vessel of anger struck the water near
They screamed as the thunder approached where we were
Myself standing on the sand, them floating in the waves
But yet they looked to me with glee, I was struck with doubt
Juxtaposed with gratitude and misery
As the sleepless lot made another attempt to tip the sea
I turned to see the clouds roll over, the color took them then
But the shade of it, I knew not when, but Waits sung them out
As I tried to wave them in, but the water went over their heads
But longing still drew them in, they creep to the sand
Only to be met with a distance wider than the sea to the surface
They dare not go back to those solemn ships,
But rather they look for houses on the coastal strip

Who will curse the magnitude?

For one such as me will never know the perils of a quiet sea
That still takes its victims in the morning.