I don’t know any of you but
You don’t know any of me than a girl who’s spent
I don’t know myself
Any more
Than I can possibly invent.
Where should I go?
My eyes stretch and crash at the waves
The sun shines on a sea of
Abstractions
We must make meanings, always, he says,
And we are under construction, is it?
I say
Build me a house. Of wood. Or steel
It must not break before I die
Or, you could be sand and I, the seafoam
Together, apart
A restless life.