Their castles crumbled
Fine flagships have floundered
Unsteady seas and awkward eddies
Have dragged them down
Without a sound
These depths
Are endless
Boundless
Bottomless bags
Of third-hand rags
Would their lifebelt be
On the brink of sinking
Dour scoured horizon
Done gone thinking
Mocks you merrily
Bottled messages
Rock them verily
Ocean forecourts’
Flurries of hurriers
Pass on senseless waves
Of human foam but no-one’s
Saving souls or taking these brave sons
Home at their windowsill, still looking out
They’re vagabonds, locker-bound, no doubt…