sails will run

[wytchcroft]

as the prophets were counted
by the fire
by the feast

all that's fuel and good to eat
swallow the oily taste
of the dreamer's defeat

and the
last man hanging
by the soles of his feet
is singing to the sound of the sheep

singing up down and a westward ho
up down for the wind doth blow
with the silvery tide
leave this darkness behind
come the silvery tide
and the morning

throw those windows open wide
throw the drunkards overboard
catch a good breeze and these sails will run
pull up that anchor to the heavens
draw down that ladder from the sun
these sails will run.
...................................
and this (like the previous) was finished c/o chalissa, with due thanks