The ocean winks at me as I bathe
in convulsions of turquoise, fully-dressed.
Between the stones and her indigenous tidings
there is no room for my boundaries.
Her arms topple and twine,
an embrace desperate for meaning.
She is a contradiction in which
epiphanies are rendered malleable,
a requiem unfathomable
but for the bluster of illusions.
I never loved her but her paradigm
still comes to me in moments of distress.
I could have been poor and happy
but I chose the accolades of predation.
I prefer nonsense to conjecture.
I prefer nonsense to the company of masquerades.
I prefer nonsense to the trial and bother
of my own antipodean sentiments.
I dream without sleep’s indulgence
pouring my blood into the open grin of a carafe.
I am never discreet, not even in whisper.
Mine is a continent of infinite discord.
I possess and ingest myself
yet the question of my species remains.
What am I? A coffin? A whimsy?
A sheaf of undated manuscripts?
Inside where the bones lie
my sutures amend themselves in satin
and the hope, however, grim that my scars
will not overwhelm me.