The Voyage of the Bounty

Everything was absurdly ordered. Black cloud, lonesome lot. A tacky sunset hanging on a keychain in some god’s Jeep, who stopped to make love on the beech. Meanwhile, I’m slapping the asses of cattle as they climb the stairway to heaven. I have no coat, and my sunglasses have no lenses. My breadfruit lunch is at the bottom of the sea.