This, Could flash across , a blink of a cliche In hand before you’ll finish that sneeze The instant world A quick response , satisfies your needs Almost, before the shell returns, empty So no, I’ll pause for thoughts Place those gathered, slowly in a bottle, glass No more plastics , pollute the sharks Then, to the murky soup below throw hard from the pier where a hundred years or so on some far off beach, bleached by the Tasman Sea when I’m gone, long, my thought still bobbing along waiting, for the one, Young bronze, torso bare wild, flowing hair, a discreet tattoo, delicate touch, showing just a hint, sliced his toe on my shipwrecked lines the curse, undeserved But I’m sorry nonetheless for the rock, that changed my complex muse to mush
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