our miraculous cruise
a sea party passed us as we ate great patches of pastrami on a rather weathered patio. I was particularly attracted to a furtive turtle in a girdle who was introduced as a girl trapped within herself till she sold her chateau for a scarf to cover her scars. she was warmed by the arm of a skinny latin fat cat in satin moccasins who annoyed us with his sarcastic moroccan maracas.
we feasted with some Sandinistas and fell strangely ill. our repast had caught up with us. luckily the ship's mystic therapist came to our rescue skewing our screwed up tubing with harmonious hypnosis using a mist incense to cure our psychosomatic neuroses. we regressed into the matchless recesses of subtle effervescent bubbles that knocked us off our land lubber rubber deck huggers.
the next morning we were loose from our mooring. the tide had lifted our ship and slipped us from our slippery slip and we found ourselves adrift among the dipping waves. that day we had tea on the high seas which pleased us sweetly.
we never felt dead. we still don't.