Poetry: The Ocean Crests

The ocean crests
And selves pass,
As fleeting thoughts,
Barnacles of ego symbiotically,
Attached
To the past,
“How else could I exist?”

“At once,”

Years or months,
An acid drop or bong rip,
And the journey unfurls,
Like an invertebrates insides
Spilling,
Out
Into the ocean’s lung,

The sense of self is simply:
Perception of the present plus
Remembrance of the past.
Do you remember,
Honey suckle summers?
Or perceive
The luck and beauty,
Of health, of hope,
Of tomorrow blooming
Into anything?

All while the ocean crests,
Upon the shores of concepts,
Recently articulate ape minds
Knitting majestic institutions,
From linguistic constructs,
Struggling to distance,
Themselves from biological origins,

We are nothing but ourselves.

The ocean crests
Yet the human-animal desires
Only static enlightenment,
“This is how it is!
Nothing else!”
But existence is more akin
To throwing a rope around a wet,
Spinning, tennis ball—-
Nonsense.

The oceans crests
And we begin again at the new dawn,
Pawing at an understanding
Of everything,
Or anything, if it
Satiates,
Foolish desires,
Resting upon a shore,
Where concepts and sorrow,
Ego and self,
Recline.

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Donovan James is a writer, musician, cat enthusiast and psychonaut. He is still an idealist, despite a ravaging cynicism. He believes that the money and effort allocated to war and fear should be used to feed, shelter, and educate the poor, no human being excluded. His work has appeared in Commonline Journal, and Monkey With A Hat On theater productions. His book of poetry, Saudade, can be purchased here.

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