Love Is a Ship of Fools Crashing into Revivalist Shores

Let’s admire each other’s vestments as we divest ourselves, one garment at a time, folded carefully at the aft. Gazing up to wonder what tree the mast came from, I’ll work on my zippers. You can polish your brass hats. Folly just feels better shedding everyone we’ve known. Stark naked, it’s time for our sideshow in the harbor. I beg you for rupture in raptors, a special kind of flee from the burden of renaming what we pretend to be. Try to think of the unreasonable layers we have lost— I think Patches was the name of a shirt I once had. And here come the gulls—why don’t the dead travel in flocks? I can strip any kind of apocalypse you transmit. And don’t you ever forget, I undressed the salty fish.