33: Trop Tropic

Misty-eyed days
The clouds are covering up
what once was bright and shining us blind.
Shoreline envy and battalion waves mimicking those of
business raves.

But the beaches steer clear — as if a mellow escape
to the blinding buildings encasing the caged.
Away from the lights, cells of financial districts,
Drift off to sea, afloat on your souls.
I eat from the pavement and sing to the skies.

Sink — if you want to, they will let you go.