Founder Keeper

piss not the only river to the sea,

new land, new era

drunk last night

in a sobering cool

looked at squared ships

Nina and Pinta,

Good Lord they had made it,

flesh transient to come

indigenous others to fall,

acquisition the aim,

land on the wheel of kings emotion,

sometimes wanted or cast off,

this was a prize,

a prize of democracies future

to inherit,

people would come

to this social bazaar

intermingle and weave

and live on the brandy breath

of a drunken sailor,

harmony song

an arc of words,

turmoil and transition

yet resolute and steadfast,

from a boat

to population sprawl

water to plaza

strip malls and floral suburban

displays,

tenacious hearts with fluttering

pride,

from the moistened Genoese boot

shaking of an idle drip,

comes paradise

in it’s most ambiguous form.