'One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star'- Nietzsche
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Tacking, the square rig tense, and each bending

breeze a rapturous suspension; tall smiles

all around, leaning in toward isles

torn by tornadoes, almost lamenting;

blues on blues, the wild mast a metronome,

hoisting waves that roll and roar and riot,

with all voices deafened in the pilot

house, as we haul squid jigs and head for home.

All is lost, amidst laughter and the squall;

lost Dave pitzing his high-strung violin,

Michael’s cello thrums; lost skipper’s brass grin

at Jerry’s jazzy, sliding keyboard sprawl.

Dark first stars light the giddy levity

above the gushing black hole’s gravity.                                     

  • John Kendall Hawkins

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