The Book of Percival
Spicer on Percival
"Ship of fools," the wise man said to me.
"I used to work in Chicago in a department store," I said
to the wise man never knowing that there would be a
Whose tiny sails, grail bearing
Would have to support me all the loves of my life
Each impossible choice I had been making. Wave
"Fool," I could hear them shouting for we were becalmed
in some impossible harbor
And in impossible armor
The spooks that bent the ship
Forwards and backwards.