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Silverslimed oysters, afloat careless
await to rest on those simmering dunes
of silt topaz. Longing, longing, longing
like a lonesome night
more longing, ad infinitum.
Now I want to walk, naked and sane
like the first man, who talked
with those ethereal winds
and felt the winter of a shivering rose
without an ounce of thought.
But in all becoming
you are a nomad, a gypsy.
A soul on an experience voyage
rest not on the shore
you slither, you suffer.
