One unnaturally buoyant needs ballast.
I've got grit. I've got sand. I've got lead weights
Wrapped in long lines around light awareness
That mind is a moon pretending to be
A balloon pretending to be a boat
Bouncing over the broken reflections
Where waves intersect interminably
To suggest choppy myths. surface and depth.
Nothing floats, nothing sinks, notes the stoic
Dreamer of fine-drawn, drowned infinities,
And yet we're put paid to pretend our ends.
Were not. Were. Crescent. Can't care. Crescendo.