Figure Piect T.
Our awkward hero of the story
Oh what an easiness I feel.
Oh yeah sure,
the last desk is left empty,
the tablecover already turned.
Found a mast for the float,
it measures exactly 28.9 feet;
new subject, new corner,
Rhine any longer,
which silent rottening;
now the theme is Weser,
the newborn of my dreams.
Just have to pass Schwaffelbeen-Bridge,
where someone is spewing with olive nucleuses,
the remnant of her last exciting,
the neighborhood shopping.
Behind the threatening cold of the concrete
a blooming cherry tree gives the promise
for the long longed far broading land;
as our boat enters the shadow of the passage
the smell from a perpetual shuttered tomb
tickles around my nose.
The thought of leaving behind,
makes me feel relieved.
What has it been?
An area of so many,
so many that small,
even with not enough weight,
to urge a quiet laying sea,
to show a mirror image of it,
where a dragonfly will cause hurricane.
The first sunbeam hits me
as the exit of the dark arch,
total unavoidable a song comes in mind:
"1000 naked women and
a bottle of grapefruit juice";
the things which accompany a sailors life;
syphilis and scurvy.
