How Does It End? Poem by Rowan Welch

Ceaselessly into the past we row-
On the boat with no sail.
But wind, ever floundering blow,
And the nauseating, rocking pail-
Of vomit and disgusting lot-
From lonely, and disoriented sot.
Lonely, with no friend but not,
Conforming to his inevitable rot-
On the dock,
The deck,
The plot.
But all else fails, an endless effort-
To see again all which once was.
Yet no consolation for the martyr;
An endless butthurt for his cause.
Tis' a crime of unsorted measure;
The boat will sink, he'll find no treasure.
Atop his peril, a ship there covers-
Seen with not one, but two lovers;
One plunders.
Again they're shipping on trail-
From the fail,
Of one following his dreams.
A dream of pathetic quarry.
Driven by vessel.
But neither of them worry.
Flipping a shekel.