Travels of Marco

I was in Asia Minor in pursuit of distant honor in a suit of finest armor in a forest of pine or planks. I was not lost. Regina (my sextant) stared into the refiner’s flare as evening grew maligner. I was in Kazakhstan collecting rarest poppies. My capstan gave out. I could no more withstand the tides than fall to the rattan mat like Tristan sailing emptily to his mutant island. I was in greater Ghana harvesting marijuana with soul-strafing Tatiana, the local swan—a mortal one, a prize among the fauna. (There should have been a lawn a- gainst her.) You see, I was in Corinth fabricating synth- etic absinthe. I was adamant. The trophy I chased for the ninth night of days was Cynth -ia, succumbing at the plinth. Then to Argentina I set forth with Ekaterina a diminishing ballerina. She pled for fina- steride, having seen a parrot turn bright green u- pon my mythic ocarina. I was in Tel Aviv. Viv- ian (my pigeon) and I were feve -rish from bouts of griev- ous liv- er malaise. We must have been naive -r than a hibernal beave -r, for soon I was in Canada as ever. Had no plan; not a home to hide in, nothing human. Ada (vulgar bird) went wan, bade a screeching goodnight to her one God, a soapstone strap-on. Alone, I ran a do- zen tests: None truer, none sadder.