Filtered though coral, dogs chase. Waves on their hind legs, evaporate.
Translucent skin, protecting the figurehead. Three scattered pins, loosely held by the sand.
It’s not real (faceless warning call) Your not real (You’ll miss me when I’m gone).
Ash and olive oil, in layers. Molecules of carbon, pleading their case. Superimposed, white and blue stucco. Grey clouds, drone.
It’s not real (is a distant star) Your not real (it’s a dying star) It’s not real
(a final curtain call) Your not real
(I’ll miss them now their gone)
From the album Memoirs on an Oblong Sphere.