We Will Jettison the Turpentine People, Because They Can’t Get Us

by Shaina

I want to be a pirate, and it fatigues
me to wait for my ship, as they say
New York will be under water.  They also
call New York and Island.  Shenanigans,
shenanigans, upturned mouth corners, have
you seen a map.  My boat must have wheels.  I consider
the fact that luck would have a lot to do with
it.  Because id is smeared everywhere, and that’s the gouache
life.  And gouache pirates could be
eaten up by the high seas because of being
too busy being limeys because of “scurvy” in
the sense that {island : Manhattan :: limey : tequila drinker}.  I
should remember to bring salt.  Or the sea will provide.  And
I wouldn’t be enlisting God, either, and as
dark coincidence would have it, my ship-mate’s name
is Jonah.  I chuckle to myself as I drink my
coffee and frequencies get higher and think if you
can build an ark out of faith, what about karma.
 And do
I even have that kind of good credit with humanity, and does
it work like cash back rewards, because I
hadn’t meant to redeem it yet.  It’s been coming like
strokes to my smears, and I felt so good but thought
what about my boat.  It will sink if I use up the karma,
maybe.  Like the time a cop came in and told us drugs
use up all your serotonin.  Like a gum ball machine, he
said.  You will run out.  I hadn’t thought far out on the
expiration of the karma for the boat, but then, I suppose,
we will light our ship on fire and have a wonderful party
as we go out like the gouache vikings we’ve become.  Please