on followers

when @ the ancient coast of thoughts
one's breaking off to live again
aware, arising, cold w/ clots—
                 jumping seems a bed
                 like an apple's red.

such coasts can call, but hardly drink
(a mustang's wild @ the lip);
so people lose control to think
                  &, though the wiser, dive—
                  real madness, in assize.

they hit the water hard as brick
& shatter guts from here to Wales;
but nothing lasts, it's always quick—
                  ideas get gobbled, nicked,
                  & the ocean's filled w/ shit.