Poetry

Quilted pattern'd sea under draped curtain cloud, drenched in sunlight,
Carrying the halo’s plusin' from Sol, in hypnotic twist,
Lullin' all those existin' under it into soft consciousness,
While my flat soled foot, shoe'd feet, stand in bemused ecstasy,
On landlock'd jetty of log an' rock's demand, where the ol' Columbia gaves way,
T' the sea, a vein flutterin' blood t' the blue heart,
Spread like butter over wheat bread, dirt land.
Air is thick illusion of “fill in the blank”,
Pictured invisible forces, made salty,
While waves clashin' boulder-jetty-construct with venomous Neptune spite,
Unlashes a cascadin' rhythm of robed monk chanted OM's,
In the cathedral stain glass mirage muddled in watery reflection.
South Jetty, your misplaced directionally, as you cling higher up the shpere,
Than most account for south, with chill'd winds, beltin' like bitter cough,
But nature neither excepts nor denies its labels, humanistically attached,
It is impartial t' all things, a true moderate!
The middle way is the only way,
We'll feel comfortable in this flab of structured flesh,
The middle way is the only way,
That us an' the sea lie these burdens t' rest.