Sinking Ships

We ride through the north woods on a wave of CV chatter

Parading a false flag, eyes directed to the platter

Caught like bread crumbs at the bottom of an oven

Baptismal reruns dancing like sugar plumbs

Sewn lips save sinking ships

And deaf bliss ripens foreign tides

But when the poles shift, and the waters lift

We'll watch the rift grow and grow