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So much for beating your indoor chest |
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stood predator star, |
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never picked only placed before doors. |
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Do you not now know what you poet... |
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holding your breath arms akimbo |
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stood base thinking in flames of yourself |
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at the manned gates to fair Switzerland's brink... |
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would you fancy say going solo forever instead. |
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Setting sail for good on a standard stranded man crafted raft, |
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equipped with nothing save few-hundred euros and the hypocrite inside you... |
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lost where life is all but perfect, |
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taking the longest cut across wide open ocean possible. |
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razor free and limeless on a never-again bent to kiss land tour... |
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... |
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and if things go well... |
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you might harvest plankton from the rotted raft's rope |
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for your supper, and for fluids take twice from yourself |
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a handful of urine sipped to grind spit. |
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In shark free waters you could paddle with your hands and feet for fun... |
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tipping her over if a rescue plane coasts overhead... |
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and at night feel for the moon making moves, |
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forcing form on your un-mastered and visible quarter mile of ocean. |
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And by day on your back watching birds |
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appear then dissolve in mid-migrate. |
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falling from a distant nowhere to an out of sight, |
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still looping in a starring role they'd played |
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in what's our early evolution... |
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and there you are sprawled out below them, |
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fast forgetting tenth grade physics |
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floating on a few killed trees tied close together... |
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High up above you |
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in a Hollywood-set-style heaven |
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beyond two floors of sky, |
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and another five of inner-most outer-space |
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hang awake darwin's bones. |
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wheeled on a hook to the edge of a cumulous cloud. |
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peering down just, eating you up |
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and loving your nature to death... |
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And there you'll be, |
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lain prostrate chipping salt |
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from your lips with starvation soft teeth |
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sprawled out in the way of the sun. |
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You see no one truly cares if you take your bloated backpack, |
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big bag of Tylenol, and the long way never into Switzerland... |
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Poor poor stranded and big gigantic (x2) |
