Return, Translucent Ship Of Words, Return I Cried Into the Open Mic Denied

like straws in a confettied wind

the last words heard

from the triple cloud decked galleon, ghost ship

of all I ever learned Poetry should be:

goodbye to the rose emblazoned Word

and all its ancient heraldry, goodbye,

I cried in a drifting, waking dream discomfited;

stay me not with apples of gold with comfits

from the cabin hold-I read the telegram outloud:

beyond all comforting now.

mary angela douglas 25 june 2021