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Idiot Foam



All these oceans, the circling waters, well

Up in me, the slap, crush and splash, high tide

At sunset. Enough years have fallen away now,

I have no need of metaphors for wave and foam.

Thown back and forth, reaching and falling,

It's second nature, and what is nature at all

But a code to this silence unravelling within.


So I return here, circling waters, thirsty

For an apprehension, something to shake

Me from moist sleep. Any given question falls

Away like a cigarette from the mouth

Of a star, and I myself am that star,

That loser, needing to know, again:

Why me -- why not me?! Still there is just

This, just this, the slap of the wave

On my feet, and I'm held in the arms

Of gravity, an immensity

I can only love dumbly,

Blown away, like the idiot foam.