and
Oil

1 August 2014

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.

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