by Brooke Wolfe

Created on: April 12, 2009

It's not fun to watch the rust grow
So polish your shoes instead

There's a bottle with the chemicals
In the nightstand by your bed.

Use it on your shoesuse it on your head:
That tired contraption on top.

The fun was never in time that passed
Working always passed it.

Polish is work, it's taking elbow greese.
Now that's a funny word.

You'll remember that one
But it's not the same

Names of Body parts sometimes
but not always Do coincide with car parts

Over and over and over again
The ship in the bottle haunts my dreams.

It desires what is deep and blue
Desperate for salty wetness of one of the seven.

You're in a silly bottle, bottle-ship.
Just watch the rust grow on the cap

Cuz that's the only action you'll have for days.
No, no, don't cry about it.

Crying won't help, it won't compose yourself
It's better to compose a poem.

A poem about rust
Was always read by the rustiest,

The dustiesttunnels bend in and out of my plans
Lending hope of possible escape,

Escapade elsewhere down dirty streets,
But whatever you do, don't cry for mr. ship-in-a-bottle

worthless. He couldn't sail if he wanted to!
Big phoney. Forget him.

O my God. A ship in a bottle can never set sail
Unless

Unless the bottle started rattling,
Started shaking as a commencement

Of about a 2-on-the-richter-scale,
Clink, clank, rattle, spittle, chink, chank, chunk, clunk!

A ship in a bottle can never sail until
It breaks in an earthquake

Freed by a powerful negative force of nature
Evil by creed and destined to defy.

That ship had a will of its own.
That rusty cap would never make me smile

Polishing my shoes.

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