sea swells and seashells and the salty mist of hell

if you were
to pin your hopes
to me
you’d see me
fly around the room
as the illusion
is broken
the inflatable fool
in the corner

i am less
than you think
than i wish
i am
the great whirlwind
of flaws
since childhood
to dwell
with the other misfits
in the tall grass
roving eyes

an optical delusion
a tropical confusion
a less than
optimal extrusion
on an otherwise
pleasant day

as the sea swells she cocks her ear to seashells in the ever diminishing dream that oceans can carry her away, wash her clean, fill the places where sorrow jets in eddys in the tidal drift of nuance and new age incredulity

and her dead gaze falls onto the portuguese man o’war floating on the foamy caps promising naught but stinging no lashes not unlike the many others she has endured before in the tragic stage play she reenacts to a crowd of no one

a classic case
of the sea swells
the seashells
the salty mists of hell

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