Ship of State...

[Yet another unusual piece, apparently from the unknown poet of the Third Galaxy. As with "River Descending", I am convinced that this is yet another of those which, as he says several places, he "...composed in my bed at night as I go back to sleep after having gotten up to take a leak.

This explains their dreamlike quality, I suppose, but offers little in the way of understanding their meaning.

It would seem that this was composed a few months before the final laps of the Quadrennial Horse Races, the last ones held before the Terrible Times were ushered in...]

We have a problem in the lower decks,
a major problem, a matter of life and death!
The miasma discharges are disturbing our sensor screens;
it's all chaos down there and nothing is what it seems!

The angel crew is turning blue from dread:
"Where fools rush in, angels dare not tread!"

We ought to have, with our ship's power, a chance
to escape somehow from this dire predicament.
We ought to be able to turn the ship around
and chart a new course before she runs aground.

We ought to be able to do it -- but don't hold your breath!
Too many have gotten used to the taste of death!

You've guessed by now the ship is our Ship of State?
In the end, you know, we all will share her fate!