Вершы: The Doors. Strange Days. Horse Latitudes.

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters
True sailing is dead

Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop

And heads bob up
Poise, delicate, pause, consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined and sealed over