All this operational tension and employment bartering: the sea is a seasonal thing as in you see and then you don't. It evaporates like the spendthrift type outside the apartment. And he's lost when the time shift turns past the appointed work shift. There there. This feeling of utterances in the ear; hot and soft. The stipend is beyond over. The trickle down is hot wax and spearmint. Stunning cool and explosions out across the permeated economic landscape. The tycoon weeps bloody dollars while crushing the menial underfoot. Some sort of juggernaut steamroller bringing the blue bloods to their present situations so the crystal can clink together in a toast to present situations. The foreman has one eye rolling like a bowling ball. And he keeps the fabric of the infrastructure sutured together with clothes pins. And he keeps the water flowing even though it means nothing anymore. And the lake drains down to the constancy of collapse. The constancy of ebb and flow. The near and the far. The world careening and letting us just sway with it for now. And the things that we forgot how to love are supporting us. Remember green? Remember blue? Remember salivating and drowning and loosing yourself from the taut rope wrapped so secretly around your neck? Would you gargle with raw sewage? Would you jump rope with a live wire? I thought so.
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