In the sea.

The periodicity

Of the waves combine

With the bobbing of your mind

To create a certain calm.

Hold up your palm

And look at it:


See the edge

Of hand and earth,

One shiny, one rough,

Both equally meaningless,

Or perhaps meaningful

If you’re into that



Admire it well,

The opalescent blue

And the wrinkly dull pink,

Each infinite in their own ways,

Each with endless potential

To be wasted by both

Indiscretion and


Hear it well,

The crashing waves

And the wind in your ears:

The perfect white noise lullaby

To dull your sense of reality and truth.

It’s easier to believe the seagulls

Than it is to hear the calls

Of far off voices

On the sand.