Ahab, eyes wide open.

I search the line
The compelling blue
Coming up fickle
Each day.
As sailors play
At scrub, hoist, trim
And hopefully a sighting.
Whale!
Thar she blows.
Yes Lads to the boats.
Whetted points and staffs.
Rope in myriads of fathoms.
Muscles, backs, necks
Giving it all
To the chant rhythm.
Like some monks
In an abbey.
Expecting a kill.
A carcass.
Towing and slicing for the boil
Of rich light and warmth.
Back home.


But all is almost
Beside the point.
Tis the white One
What bit off me leg.
Him I will trail.
To Hell if necessary.
Risking every soul.
For the delicious recompense.
Gold coin to the one
Sighting Moby Dick.
My nemesis who Lords it over
Krill, octopus, mackerel and singing dolphin.
In that eerie, whining Deep.
So translucent.