The roughneck didn’t care who’s oil it was

he just hated the midnight sun. The toolpusher

hated the sea, and the drill went down

regardless, as the ocean never met the sun.
& at this break in the tail oil, the oil

is called back into its drum

the cylinder steel mask of a northern Oni baba

where North embarrasses

its own deployment hundreds of miles below

terror as houses became unaffordable

because of pressured fossiled compressing

a woman in a bed is transferred to a wheelchair
The derrickman on the monkey board

was tripping pipe when he saw a humpback

whale in the water below. The derrickman

whistled mississippi. The humpback sang

his own song, and the drill continued

regardless, as the ocean never met the sun.
the poor are thirsty, feed them, he said to his aides

he was heard overheard saying, not a stupid man,

but his lies never did put a strain on his hearing

he had the strength to laugh to the end as most terrible people do

he laughed loudest when reminiscing the young crowd dispersion,

the horses baking or his pranks.

piercing barrels shaped shipping, or industry pierced

a few days ago I was listening to the gentle tide of the North sea

now, if the black gets in again, I’m leaving
The roustabout has magic in his brain, a synaesthesia

hears ancient forests in the oil on his fingertips

sees sunlight in viscous dark. All of history is present

the continual line is circular, like in the north, where

the ocean never meets the sun.
What is latticed on the common is the fact if the crude being made o

the deadest things compressed, some were animals

wait till the animal is dead before you eat it

make sure your love is awake before you have sex with it

even if the timing o the children

mournful altar architect is sleepless, them sleeping

rolls over upon its partner imagines it’s America

don’t imagine any freedom oer than that

we the Baptists gave to build a sanctuary of moods

(for if they won’t understand)

I’ve experience in museums & can man the desk 
the chainhand stood above the moon pool

and cursed the money he couldn’t let go

he thought of his daughter, wished

for energy in the wind, as the ocean

never met the sun.
a long drop it was to see the chain undone

above him, but fall it did & what hard will

were to be discovered knowing now the tricks

poetry of a man with no legs whose only

wy to making were pulling things from

out of the sea, a cough too that lingered

won’t leave, spitting black hank into a

banana peel
bell nipple, big bear, blow out, cold vent

core sample, drill sting, the floorhand

ran these words over his tongue, and felt

metal in his mouth. (Fish: any object

unintentionally dropped into the wellbore)

The floorhand spat into the wellbore. 
the bear named for a terror

oil caked put still at the praising lids

not even a hair to wash his hands

when men in swarms part for another’s

entry on an oil rig, son, you know he were

a hard man, a cut too manipulated

a footage of a flighty walking into the snow

as though were a suicide, and not a hood run

searched out for a certaindistance

a jack shell put into the sky to keep the bear back

the dogs get mauled, but not hurt

Svalbard skulltooth, a neck stroke clinch

that killed a boy, but the bear’s still dead nae

better off than the crudebear, oilbjorn

floorved, who wheels himself abound
the floorhand spits fish into the wellbore

the chainhand stands above the moon pool

the roustabout sees sunlight in viscous dark

the derrickman whistles mississippi

and the drill goes down regardless, as the ocean

never meets the sun.