Sacramental Agnostic, Mr Christian

I arrive by way of mutiny.

As second to the self’s captaincy

I amend a creed in this squall.

Slops of Councils wash

from the tarred deck. This briny

world is a fictive place

I’ve never been

outside a tale of grizzled

tropes that signify fidelity

of a kind, or otherwise.

Everything’s deep green

and lurching, alongside

an oceanic discipline

that feels a lot like chaos.

The sea’s obedient

to an ancient rule, predating

humankind, predating bios.

The trick is to bear with it

or abstain: the able vessel’s

deference to the swell

the body’s nous for land.