who knows what red tide is -
that bait not fresh. it smells of that;
how an ever renewed ocean of water floats
your boat, is a mystery when your heart
looks of lead, sometimes they think it dead.
while theses are not nearly abstract or literal
enough for this game - something so clear,
represents some things oblique and opaque -
all rest fidgety, though. who is it that you write for?
tell them. they want to know and they understand
if you don't know. don't eat dead fish,
though it is rumoured they like the taste -
but rather let it absorb both ways,
an osmosis of realizations, through
non-presumption. it's not too late
for each to wisen up at this hour
seasofme120316
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parallaxis
Poetryparallax /ˈpærəˌlæks/ noun 1. an apparent change in the position of an object resulting from a change in position of the observer 2. an appar...
