Can you remember the times when waves rolled by and crashed unnoticed,
free to float amongst the decades of words, deaf to the screams?
It is was a time of blind children, so helpless on the beach.
Sand blew into their eyes, filled the sockets electric.
Glass formed and they could soon see, but into a mirrored past.
Six detachments of a civic people rolling between the lanes,
free to roll thru dry grass and shine lines of sheer idiocy.
It's the smell that she remembers.
It's the smell that she passed on to me, that remembered her of a red dissociative time.
Free to love that's been passed on to me.
What the sand eyes seem makes their raw lids blink,
something thrown away that they see.
It reminds them to always be happy:
as she sees her ways: her past, her now.
as she sees her ways of no consequence that she passed on to me.
Call it a fool's way.
He's from the Ocean and new to the lands.
It's so dry; a throat raw.
It's so dry; to have eyes and sand.
It's so dry; parched lips and skin.
It's so dry that hopes lies only in the Ocean.
It takes you under. Take me with you.
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