Like billowing drapes in the
infamously airy Fitzgerald scene,
deep cerulean waves transform me
into an idle dope.

Still yet existing, breathing,
confined
to les regles of the trade
even in the softly overwhelming shadow
of the undiscovered waters.

The soft breeze only provides temporary
relaxation.
I am strongly affected in my physical state:
vegetative, even.
But my psyche screams for

A true offering of peace,
the final offering,
the permanent offering,
the end.