DAMAGE PARLOR

My flagon of Ganymede, a frothy pontoon 
Of ephemerals, flanking the dry-docked galleon
Of my youth. At once, prodigious and minute. 
Like a fob on a club. Run aground and marooned.
Like a bald spot on stilts. 
The Sea has resigned. And all Sirens departed…
Save a nameless nymph etching her song
Into the marrow of a length of bone -
Shaped like an orphaned
Hammer.

A scrimshaw calliope of petroglyphs 
As garrulous as a Cauliflower 
On a bed of velvet
As black
As an unborn
Sun.