The plankton at the heart of life submerged
In endless waters must not feel too much
Except the briny flow of all they touch
Like breathing, in and out, a binge and purge,
We like to say there’s more to life than this
Diadems rise, and doges pound their fists
And angry men and women make their lists
Of all the sins of the world on the tip of a kiss;
The fog comes on little cat feet, and then
Feelings are first so no one pays any attention
The wind blows in the branches, I sit and then
I look, and then I walk a bit to ease the tension
And then, and then, all the senses binging
On the place I am, the where of it, no purging.
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