life is a nothing if a platitude
of discovery and seeing
sometimes things that are not there or attitudes
which are visceral
airless balloons and gaseous
bursts of noxious fumes
as many times balloons
might float
they also fall like we all do
all along the coast the swollen
float as small
plastic residues
no longer beautiful
tides like brooms
sweep the crests the furrows
the burgeoning breeze
cleanses deaths smell and memory
from the sunken swollen
ships
a sailor stands as a ghost
and signals
hail hail to thee