Classic Poem

I know, now that the bottom
Grape tendrils snarl and clog,
It is the hour of autumn
And writhing fog.

Black meadow mist steams
In a silver vat—
Something for the bird that screams
To be screaming at.

Weathered shingles, field stones
Drip with a dull thud;
Drop water in my bones,
Water in my blood.

I must get away from here;
Shanghai men with beards and eyes
Green, and steal a ship, and steer
To some mad surmise.

I must get a ship and stand
Parallel with sun and sea;
Touch it with my either hand;
Smell it foolishly.

I must get away or go
Daft and yell a crazy yell;
It would be enough to know
Any ship's smell.

I must get away and get
Sea dazzle on my skin
Till the glitter and the sweat
Make my head spin.

Anywhere but here—with hull
Rank, and rotting deck, and death
Bubbling up in beautiful
Emphasis of breath!