The sea has its thoughts of distance and burdens of propriety
It fishes for clouds in a blue sky
But can anyone know when a cloud is lost up there?
When is the sky a future hangover?
Do gin bottles saddle their destinies when emptied?
How does haste harangue unworded solitude?
In an oasis celebrating mud
What is murk? What mocks?
How does one remain an ordinary man as a fish?
Where are dreams in the wind when waters carry men
And life is the chronicle of invented fables;
The plaster of bios on stilts and shores…
When is the sky a cover—of colourless gray and gloom
Perhaps just skies of doubts breathing desire as dreams.
(c) Jumoke Verissimo 2011
(c) Jumoke Verissimo 2011
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