Slip the slip in a glass boat, “the sedative”.nDown the channel, headed out to see.nPast the dead stuff washed up on the bank.nThe far point calling me.nShip to shore misinformation.nNot a man as far as I can see.nBy the time they decode this dispatch…nThe whale will have swallowed me.nnHer kisses are carrots so sugary sweet.nI belong to the sea.nConcord whispers… the capital theme:nYou can’t fight destiny.nnSo don’t.