we talk to the coast
as if you had commanded us,
but it is voluntary, I assure you,
to recognize how we stand
in relationship to things
such as sea breeze and
costal fog, we value
even the lower middle class
behind us, their meagre store
of possessions, it is no wonder
the thrift shops, far from thriving,
are strapped for merchandise
and that those who deliberate
on wisdom have starved to death

I don’t know how much longer
I’ll stand on this cliff, a sign
warning of unstable earth
worries me, grey mantle
grows in the sky, a cradle
rocks at lightening speed
near entrance to a chamber
in my brain, the swell of this ocean
makes a nasty music and ides
a treasure of diamonds,
gold, and amphora, better to stand
on the shell of a tortoise, far better
to leave Atlantis to a dream, unfulfilled