This is a poem I composed in the shower three years ago when I was almost delusional with a fever. Underneath are some important notes.

Ahab’s Cry
and then we shall meet - I
and the great Moby Dick in the sky
and no longer will I cry
“he tasks me, he tasks me”
and no longer will the
tangled mess be torn from my throat
“I stab at thee, I stab at thee”
but still longer we will be
bound by cord, harpoon, and sea.

moby dick of course signifies james joyce

i wrote this poem in a feverish stupor

I’ve got the winter wanderlust
When everything I’ve left undone
Screams for me to shed this coarse
husk of a domicile, don the golden fleece
And take off gliding through hemlock
and fir, paying homage to the lake
Under the gaze of a pallid moon.