Dedicated to STC, Thanks for the images.
The snow egret
lays on deck with broke wing as Captain plucks—feathers and strings, topping his hat, filling duvets, cutting her flesh—flavoring stews, eating of her and feeding his crew. Oh my Captain! Let me die. Oh my Captain! Help me fly. But what fuckery is this?
Captains cracking another wing.
mogadonia:laura9:suicideblonde:benhasten: The Albatross “The poem received mixed reviews from critics, and Coleridge was once told by the publisher that most of the book’s sales were to sailors who thought it was a naval songbook.”
engraving by Gustave Doré
Image via Art Passions
