The long row to shore

I row to shore

My oars making

My palms sore

Beaten up

By the waves’ ruckus

The boat defies me

While inside

I’m chained

To the bench

I’m sitting on,

So I must row

Or rote

A dark dot

On a blue

Blazing water top

Under a red

Blazing sun

I can’t even

Run my blistered fingers

To wipe the sweat

Off my blistered brow,

Chains yanking down

My hands each time

I try

I can barely lick the lip

When the drip sticks

And I wonder

In this sunny blindness

If it is really sweat

I taste

Or blood

And if in the scheme

Of things

Is there

A difference?