swelling, swollen, surfeit with thoughts and motion
in the heart, gut, guttered dank-ditch, black-pitch,
black crest upon crest of rolling waves
that wring wood away from failing feet as
squall-tossed souls sway; there is no stay, yet hold
fast, lash and slash for else the waves whirl in
and down, drown, heart heaped with sea-deep sounds
the world is too much, there is no ground.