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.