|
Hermit crabs and cowry shells |
|
Crush beneath his feet as he comes towards you |
|
He's waving at you |
|
Lift him up to see what you can see |
|
He begins his focusing |
|
He's aiming at you |
|
And now he has cutaways from memories |
|
And close-ups of anything that |
|
He has seen or even dreamed |
|
And now he's finished focusing |
|
He's imagining lightning |
|
Striking sea sickness |
|
Away from here |
|
Look who's laughing now that you've wasted |
|
How many years and you've barely even tasted |
|
Anything remotely close to |
|
Everything you've boasted about |
|
Look who's crying now |
|
Driftwood floats, after years of erosion |
|
Incoming tide touches roots to expose them, |
|
Quicksand steals my shoe, |
|
Clouds bring the f-stop blues |
|
Look who's laughing now that you've wasted |
|
How many years and you've barely even tasted |
|
Anything remotely close to |
|
Everything you've boasted about |
|
Look who's crying now |
