the orange of Ulster sunsets,
and rises again and again, I give thanks
By morning light, the sea calms, the waves are raked,
and feel hope, false, indestructible hope.
like this ship, condemned to sail away and towards
As our ship shudders and sinks
Plastic cups roll along the floor,
with faces flushed stagger speechless from the toilet.
We yawn and vomit, yawn and vomit,
The pitching ship pushes through hostile night.
like the floor of a urinal flooded with urine.
I climb up
and down unstable stairs
The upper deck's awash with brine,
the screaming lies behind us, we queue to separate.
The green of Ulster fields,
have faded, distant. In the grey dawn, the pleasure of feeling
Click here to fragment poem and show reading of picture space
Click here to return to original (matrix) form
Click here to stop animation