Galley Cafe

On the Spirit gyre, list
      me innards gently slump
      spine rumble
      on the diesel beat
      while shrouded islet
      slide Salish grey.

Some paint their ribs
      with butter brush
      palette scrape
      cubed potato.

Some sprinkle grains
      crystal death
      swirled amber tea.

One flays a slender
      cucumber, her
      face drawn in
      sobriety mask.

Two gnaw sheaves of
      murdered swine,
      glistening
      rent by restless incisors.