Shipwreck

She was a shipwreck. Her sails were tousled and tangled, beraggeled by the incessant wind; her mast contorted and convex, keel jagged and decrepit from bow to stern. The figurehead once pulchritudinous, finely carved, polished and painted, now pockmarked and barnacled, not to mention the coprolite on the poop deck. The flying jib grounded by enervation, her hull grew deteriorated and cleaved, no longer hermetic. Unable to direct her own course, the tiller languished abandoned; the rudder flapped about unhinged and ungoverned. Into the hatch the inebriating sea poured forth; good ole Captain Morgan, the captain of her shipwreck.