Why is it when I sail the Luna Sea
the tars I meet stuck into certitude
claim sole acquaintance with the Trinity
and drop Their Names like anchors onto me,
as if I, who forget the brass's names
much less remember who conducts the choir,
should hearken when a buoyed-up yob proclaims
unique access to Him whose retrofire
illuminates our ethics and salvation?
God save us from those who proclaim they know Him
exclusively and foist on me translation
of Truths to which they're privy literatim.
How long in oceans can a mooncalf last
by tacking notions up that are half vast?
Fallible Pharos appeared in Möbius, Spring-Summer Issue, May 2001.