I can tell you only a few things
really, this boat's dark and I'm fuck-tired.
I want to go find someplace easier to live in
but I'm in love
and where's easy
we'll still have to make our own damn soap
and we'll still have to fill out forms
dear God what disaster has forgetfulness caused
me yet today and how many phone calls
will it take to pluck me out
of the dank sink drain like a wayward angelfish
on tank cleaning day.

I've got a good heart, too.
I want to help out, I really mean it.
I want to put my name on the list
of volunteers. I want to be a friend
of the friends of some organization or
movement. This boat, for one,
could use a good cleaning, it's got rust like
some kind of metal lichen doing
a slow creep up the sill.
I wouldn't live in this as a house,
I wouldn't, but it's so damn jaunty.
I like the rocking, I like how it sticks
its nose up at the car ferries, floating strip malls
keeps a weather eye on downtown,
past West Seattle, the fake city,
no notice of Bainbridge sirens,
their police sirens or just the bridge players -
it's too easy and I think we all know,
me and the boat and all of us know
what's too easy, the way out, the cheap shot,
the sell out - we keep trying to sell out
but it's a buyer's market this year
and so much flash out there -
I got no costume, no technology.