400 B
400 B
I curse ye!
below the waves below the sea thrust down deep under the trident's tines three
crushed cracked and cleaned by crustaceans cetecea
with light ever weak an end never near in black ink of night year upon year
grasped tight by lines and wracked by defeat with no final rest and no maker to meet
so I curse you! to the bottom to drown endlessly
to be forgotten forever a part of the sea