The ocean is a lone huge eye and those who
Have never learned to swim, who cannot cross it over,
They can just walk along the shore replete with dying monsters,
With dying sirens, dying sailors, dying jellyfish,
Indefinitely, without end, without any sound
Imaginary creatures can perceive, they can
Just timidly pick up discarded shoes,
Discarded toes, discarded songs, discarded wood,
Discarded sails, discarded socks, discarded souls,
Discarded moons that tremble
Half-buried in the sand.
There is a story I forgot about people who lost their souls
walking on the fringe of the ocean for hours.
They are still laughing above the sand.
It is said that the ocean needs respect but what it really needs
Is long dead within us. The ocean is a lone huge dead eye,
Which is a pity, you might say, but there is nothing to see anyway.
A wishy-washy bedtime bebop story
drowns in the waves split by the breath of seagulls
The last radio DJ is leaving the island astride a jellyfish
I can’t decide whether a dearth of narration is fishy or not
I don’t even remember what that ocean looks like
Piles of wet books on the beaches untouched by fastidious winds
Uncut pineapples, helicopters digested by whales
Hours of listening to the clocks impaired by the salt