In your sad little boat
made from the scraps of
nothing in particular

you abandoned
familiar shores
in search of some
vague and shining
that had no name.

You imagined the stars
would guide you but the stars
had other things to do

and all you eventually found
were places
ugly with people and the bones
of once beautiful things,

places that looked like
everything else.

You’ve since grown bored
with the searching
and are content to simply drift
directionless upon the sea

and should another boat pass
in the distance
you no longer bother
to wave,

their journey meaning nothing
as your own journey
means nothing

and the rock you eventually break upon
is the loneliness
of the world,

and the indifferent waves
take you down not because they desire
your death

(they do not know your
name nor wish to)

but simply because they’ve nothing
else to do.

William Taylor Jr.