a writer of sorts
No Bailey takes us from mainland
and over the Faeroes to open seas
above Rosemary Seamount Crater
that gapes, dormant but screaming,
as she is force fed distressed ships
and wide-eyed ashen servicemen.
No Bailey celebrates their frozen
fall with moonwalk over no man’s
ocean; ships scuttling, heads down
over haunted waters; jutting Rockall
mott too late, too deep
to save sardined youth,
preserved in silt and snow.
No Bailey with Olympus Trip
and bleached Fujichrome
to snap abyssal trenches
for the delight of kaftaned
debutantes or frozen tars.
No Bailey born to mend
or free their jetsam hearts