incessant; insistent

Where did the distance come from?

Where does the ocean go when the crevasses collapse

Under the weight of so many false diamonds?

Who sweeps away the gumnuts from the top of the bus stop?

Number 18 on the road to where I used to live,

The house with the swing on the tree across the street

It was where we played.

And dreamed.

It's ethereal when something triggers the ocean to

Stop

For the moon to hide its face in shame

And for the rocks to go harsh again,

Without the smoothing sandpaper texture of the crashing waves.

But my hands still shake when I look over my shoulder

And see the tuts and scorn of the Owl whom I knew I'd never like.

I cannot find the key to my childhood home anywhere

It's been swept away from under me,

And so are my feet, slowly.

The ink is draining into the ocean

Like zebra stripes pulled away by tatto0 remover, a face-washer and vinegar.

Someone's pulled out the plug to the abyss

But despite false diamonds, there's still cracks for the sparkles to dribble down.

I think that's poetic, yet uncomfortable.

~