Inspired by a comment by Mr. Webb

Kurtz Unbound
These pitch-dark waters glisten in the sun;
As black, the sweat that falls across my gun.
“Is it time,” whispers Magobee the slave,
“To cut the anchor chain?” We note a wave
That urges us adrift. “Our journey’s done,”
I say. “This river, my lover, our grave….”


  1. Chilling. Anchor chain as umbilical cord to the horror.

  2. Jonathan Webb says

    Great poem. Thanks so much.

    You’re more of the Kurtz type than me, actually.

    • Well, if I’m Marlo, then you’re at least Marlow, and I will expect the sound of your river boat echoing around a bend of the impassable Kickapoo…


  3. Jonathan Webb says

    You got it.

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