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.
velvetmedia 