Dreams of Sinking Ships

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Originally uploaded by macnamband.

It all begins on a hot afternoon,
The president's come to town,
What a blue spangled day it is,
choppers hover, all eyes up,
But a world at right angles,
I'm afraid I'll fall out the window.

And now in some back brow, low
town in Canada, on Saturday night
in spring, perhaps, men at an
indoor country fair, along narrow
wood hallways, creaking and freshly
varnished, hawking a good time
old industrial machines and
mechanical butterflies circling above the floor.

From there to a shore, a storm,
and a sinking ship. It's just a model,
It'll be put back together, but right
now floating in brine, you can see
it was just glue, balsa wood, pretty
flimsy for such a reputation.... We,
I walk out, down the beach
in smog's light at night.