When you piss in the kiddie pool it's a lot more noticable.
and now it's time for an ocean theme
grab your snorkel.....
It's going to take more than just
wishful thinking.
And no less than spans of time.
I need to iron out the feelings that have been trampled.
And restitch all the badges you have
ripped from my uniform.
We were just boyscouts.
And you threw away my sash.
You lost me on the trail.
You threw me to the bears.
Your stuck me with my knife.
You punctured my raft.
You squandered all the rations.
And yet I still gave you my picture to remember
me by
as you
left me on this
island.
You would visit me by plane.
A nice number built for two.
Sometimes throw me a bone.
It was sad the day the engine failed.
My father always said not to buy cheap.
So here I am.
I didn't think I was prepared.
I never did get to go to summer camp.
I never learned how to start a fire with just one rock.
But this year is different.
It's time to walk.
Out there.
In there.
All the complexities of the deep deep sea
I have seen without someone on my back.
But,
am I in over my head?
I see you float by overhead,
reaching from that ship.
But I can breathe down here,
and you guys are taking on water.
Best hurry away.
It would be nice to be shallow, and afraid of the sea.
You can't drown that way can you?
Stuck on the shore in a puddle.
Building wonderfully soluble sand castles.
Thrusting at the sand in vain,
only to see the hole fill up and close again.
It's not unmanageable here though.
Those creatures coming up from the deep,
they won't touch your naked wrinkled little toes.
the eels wraping themselves in angst,
they stay safely at the deep.
With me.
All these creatures really are beautiful
and the wavy panorama looks different without fogged and cracking goggles.
Of course the tides are turning in certain parts.
The foghorn in the distance resonates a monolithic warning.
The monsters that you fear are heating up the waves.
The chitons and the starfish,
the poor obscure nudibranch,
they are all boiling in their homes.
The scurf of tattered anemones,
now pussed and brown.
They wash up at your feet.
Little comfort around your toes,
so planted in the sand.
The demons of the deep are stirring,
and while I am out to sea,
I can't feel the storm.
I don't see the swelling.
The tide pools rest.
But.
I see you on the shore, in the distance,
Water pouring from your ears,
a Leviathan pushing out of your back.
grab your snorkel.....
It's going to take more than just
wishful thinking.
And no less than spans of time.
I need to iron out the feelings that have been trampled.
And restitch all the badges you have
ripped from my uniform.
We were just boyscouts.
And you threw away my sash.
You lost me on the trail.
You threw me to the bears.
Your stuck me with my knife.
You punctured my raft.
You squandered all the rations.
And yet I still gave you my picture to remember
me by
as you
left me on this
island.
You would visit me by plane.
A nice number built for two.
Sometimes throw me a bone.
It was sad the day the engine failed.
My father always said not to buy cheap.
So here I am.
I didn't think I was prepared.
I never did get to go to summer camp.
I never learned how to start a fire with just one rock.
But this year is different.
It's time to walk.
Out there.
In there.
All the complexities of the deep deep sea
I have seen without someone on my back.
But,
am I in over my head?
I see you float by overhead,
reaching from that ship.
But I can breathe down here,
and you guys are taking on water.
Best hurry away.
It would be nice to be shallow, and afraid of the sea.
You can't drown that way can you?
Stuck on the shore in a puddle.
Building wonderfully soluble sand castles.
Thrusting at the sand in vain,
only to see the hole fill up and close again.
It's not unmanageable here though.
Those creatures coming up from the deep,
they won't touch your naked wrinkled little toes.
the eels wraping themselves in angst,
they stay safely at the deep.
With me.
All these creatures really are beautiful
and the wavy panorama looks different without fogged and cracking goggles.
Of course the tides are turning in certain parts.
The foghorn in the distance resonates a monolithic warning.
The monsters that you fear are heating up the waves.
The chitons and the starfish,
the poor obscure nudibranch,
they are all boiling in their homes.
The scurf of tattered anemones,
now pussed and brown.
They wash up at your feet.
Little comfort around your toes,
so planted in the sand.
The demons of the deep are stirring,
and while I am out to sea,
I can't feel the storm.
I don't see the swelling.
The tide pools rest.
But.
I see you on the shore, in the distance,
Water pouring from your ears,
a Leviathan pushing out of your back.