Mariners Poem on San Francisco Bay ..

What's it like waiting for the first major storm of the year, on San Francisco Bay, while people are on shore with thirty five mph winds, we get double, our hearts are in our mouth, we feel like belching and throwing up demons of great and doubt and cut anchor pirates, looking after thier own, saving thier own hides and boats, not knowing, that no fool, shall be in the bay, if you don't know, we have no time to tell, we hell, the winds are coming, the seas are high, in the middle of the bay, with the martini drinkers and the Audubon  Society haters of Anchorouts and Mariners  and Privateers and salvagers and resucers and fishermen,that put food on your tables, at the highest risk of life, or any profession, ten times more, then bring a police officer,with guns and bullet proof vests, or which Fisher, who have the highest death rate, while police, have the lowest, on the job, death rate, yet tragically among the highest suicide rate and among, the most stressful jobs ..So what am I trying to say, alone and cold and warmed only by a single burner, from a propane stove top, my only heat and healing. listening to music, keeps me sane, drowns out the voices, created by crashing waves and talking rigging, like banshees, wailing, screaming, crying, threatheing ...waves of sorrow and pain and cold and loneliness, when a man's only physical friend, is thier own penus, holding on,for dear life, a celebrate life, for the wenches have a been taken, by toothless and lonely sailors and Mariners, learning to live, without women and only company is the brotherhood of man, on the sea....then one dreams of Mermaids and Syrins calling from the rocks, come, on over sailor, we have teeth, And can devour....and I would rather be with a toothless wench and not even toothless wenches are available, for female comfort. For they are a taken by sailors, who have never married, or lost their wives, or been abandoned ....