your face
how it reminds me of
my face
though you’re
a dead man
carrying your dead
heaped
on your shoulders
while I carry mine
on my back
and if your load’s
too heavy, I tell you
remember
it’s OK to breathe
it’s permissible
to sing while you’re sailing
you say who am I
to give such unwarranted advice
and I tell you
I know nothing about sailing
not
even which way the wind blows
my face being
numb to such things
as breezes
I could peel
the invisible mud from my face
but that would defeat the purpose
of always trying to sail
into the wind
stupidly not realising
it so frequently
changes