plant yourself upon the sand
and sink into the shore
whether or not you’re really there
is nothing known for sure
trading tenacious, shallow winds
just blow apart your skin
and follow blindly, north or south
where is or isn’t is

placid, complacent violins
go waltzing toward the cliff
and sing their song of loneliness
like wasn’t or isn’t insisted
your watch doesn’t tick to the second
no, it prances and portions its stiff
upper hand of involvement
knowing what’s not is what is