I can smell stale potato air and the kitchen is white and there is the flashing of steel knives steel knives in the air fish fish are pouring in and I open my mouth hundreds flood in until I'm choking and I spit some out the rest bash against my face then continue to flood past me the ship is lurching violently as if she was shaking it like a toy out the portholes I can see the enormous strands of her golden hair swaying in the water drifting like seaweed limousined binoculars fear restaurant kinetics in my jitterbugged face of stars we swirl self-help manual tryst of foolish galaxies on my back of sand I feel the footsteps of early man she breathes her warmth down upon me radiant heat that reaches the center of every grain of me I am the palm trees too, and this makes her jealous she would like one to be a parasol, to keep the moon's sadness at bay the purple waves are slowly becoming blue and the ship's deliverence majestic bellowing suicidal glory of being nothing more than we are