The winds were against us. Our sails were defenseless.
The Boom shaka laka went bash.
The Elie Jack took a wackety smash,
This, our fight with the crashing sea.
The waves made me puke. I couldn’t handle my soup.
I went down to rest and compose.
But the shaking lingered, so ill defined,
No respite down below.
I want to make time, not distort space and mind.
I’m amniotic in fluid floating.
I want relaxation while I’m on vacation.
Upwind isn’t pleasant or kind.