I now watch a staggeringly forgotten force
It is reluctant to gravitate through painted washes, working into the swooshes
Bristles and water bleeds, choking onto an explanation
Ink marks immersed from a blunder and preserved from a stream,
Exhausting horizon lines, evaporating from the still.
Under consciousness I watch the sound wrestle down a retreating silence
Diving directly into international waters while unwrapping itself like the present.
It is likewise to The Present, however the metaphor is a route to the same story.
Without ceasing, dragging out of itself, the sound is an elastic spring inside warped tides
Tangling with neither a calm nor current, I stand in the wake that rambles on.
There is really not much to say, there is no justice here, only a punctuation of a soliloquy.
Here is a water break, though not entirely.
A vibration arrives then conversely not.
It sails through a pause and the shame throughout open air that follows.
This is a force crashing into the unlikely, equipped and preparing to listen,
Apparently here is where we are supposed to get to the point.
There is nothing I can do besides dig for a swimming vest before someone loses it.