Hart Crane Homeward Bound II

U-t-t-e-r-a-n-c-e
can't get a word in edgewise, as the junk sails out
of the Great Malvern pond towards the sunrise,
Fancy
the depth of poetics is measured not in decibels
but decanted
into leathered flagons of wine from the Rubyiat
You dig?
as the enterprise navigates through the language
on the game, hey pretty boys and girls, fancy a
trick
Ur
the race is on to cross the bridge, find Morty
and Agatha Christie, entombed in the promise
of the unpacked poetry,
there is no redundancy, no noise in this space,
only a dense field of imagery conjoined like a cigarette
to the lips of the sailor, We are on a roll man,
the readers can be thrown overboard.