The sea change blackens the soul like a sonnet, burning inside of a ring, a promise made between diamonds and titanium trust. And we all make the sacrifice for our savior: the zipper unzipped -spinach without the dip, and a hole in the wall where we left our fist. Marks, permanent and inconsistent with our tastes -we would never walk in these directions, nor at this pace. There aren't just steaks and fins swimming along our legs; there are cities, intersections within them, and people dashing to corner bakeries to feed their thoughts with pastries. Can't we feel them at our feet? Swirling about the earth's sand, gyrating streams between our fingers every time we scoop with our hands. Wander the waves we will tell our youth. Hide it all under the bottle-nose's stale, buoyant body like History, like the mammoth's fleece. Murky the main. Stomp our feet on the land underneath. And murky the main. We've got our reasons and they are fine.
But all our reasons were just lies.
-to buy ourselves some more time.
