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        across the world, 
on an island, over an ocean, he's still in fantasies
of a neurotic mind
trodding the cobblestone streets, he's unaware, 
  he's aware of only his own dreams, the ones that
sneak
in through the night
and play footsie with his daydreams, and after a while-
after a while?
he's after something he 
  thinks
he wants.  and time goes by.  and dreams 
float by, until suddenly: 
  both their souls 
are saturated 
in want, and they feel pity, each of 
them, for all their lonely nights spent gathering in the commune
of their own minds.  
but it's all a dead metaphor. 
setting the table for a crystalline disaster
and maybe one day
the ocean will be the only one
with a story to tell.

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