Catullus Sails to China (1)

Now that my sojourn is circling a drain
Should I slow this engine down and wash
Moon’s lacquered thermos and cold hair
What did I think I could possibly gain
When I sank into reams of grainy and gripe
What did I dream the stars would grant me
For wandering into every squall of petty grievance
All promises of sweet return posted in evening air
All melons and dates grown beside the Bosphorous
Sent here, wrapped in blue sky of Chinese paper
Catullus, you dented pumpkin, you must halt
This idiocy and calculate the loss you see as lost
A handful of little goodbyes might be necessary
Admit what everyone knows—you were an ungodly child