It was simply an indicator of the tightness of the bastille when I then must need endure the specter of pompous Learian rationale to arrange my earned furlough. Oh Mr. Lear, it is ever so. You haunt me, Edward. However, in a twist of the rational in nigh a week's time I found myself performing a temporary elegy of sorts for the miscommunicatively [it is, I say, or should be...why are you smacking so loudly?] masked madness that descendeth back into its dark crevasse, nay 'pool in all consistency, awaiting some other traveler in some other sane struggle. And...
I'm going up the `pool from down the smoke below
to taste my mum's jam sarnies and see our Aunty Flo.
The candyfloss salesman watches ladies in the sand
down for a freaky weekend in the hope that they'll be meeting
Why had I never realized I was caught on a train sans handle charging towards an ending of despair? But...
There'll be bucket, spades and bingo, cockles, mussels, rainy days,Edward Bear, it is you that I see. A mere mistaken consonant between me and a rudimentary pilgrimage to the land of my awakening that are the isles.
seaweed and sand castles, icy waves.
Deck chairs, rubber dinghies, old vests, braces dangling down,
sun-tanned stranded starfish in a daze.
I was but a starfish in the shallows swishing back to the open endless sea.
Time will pass.