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.