26

10.3.06
for ivan the terrible
A LIFE RAFT, tattered, at sea. Writing…

VOYAGEUR
Day 26. I still am lost at sea.
Without a drop of water left to drink,
I doubt that I will live much longer now.
Some sharks have started at surrounding me,
If I dive in the end comes soon I think.
If I linger longer: what good is that?

Thinking of Martha.
Thinking of George.
Thinking of gogo and didi.

Last words.

I’m not thirsty anymore.
Boredom is the greater threat.
Regret, too, is sinking in.
Chagrin at how I spent my time.

This is my last sheet of paper.

On back of all the 25 entries,
I’ve scrawled a drawing or illustration.
The first was of the ship’s large broken bow.
Perhaps after twenty-five centuries
The bottles will wash up in some nation
And tell the viewer of my sorry fate.

And hang them on a wall,
Hang 25 and all
Together.

Last words?

What should be my last drawing?

Will anyone ever even see it?

There’s great art in the pity of this end.
The fact that I will never live to be.
The heights one reaches when one falls so low!
Here I am, alone, without any friends,
And making work of finer quality
Then ever I have before. So I think.

So I sink.
Lower.
Art.

Last words…

Bosh.

Fuck this, the last words I would ever say?
“I’d trade art for food and drink any day.”