sliding down the pole
underneath the waves,
below the stream of never found,
underneath the graves.
on the pier, lays a book…
the pier sustains the book.
in the book’s a memory,
please don’t look too hard at me.
the book is in some melody
i’m singing in my shoes and socks,
i get them off, i do not need,
purple shorts and tie-dyed tee,
and, after i am done,
alone in skin, i wonder how
you’ll watch the world watch me.
now, i’m naked like an orphan, nothing on,
my heart is with the world,
but, the world sees sex, and sex is killing me…
i want to be free.
seals swim inside the sea,
flipping up and out of place,
locked inside the rubber water.
seals and lies make history, ‘look at me’…
each
word
swims
back
in
sleek…
each song i sing’s another wasted memory.
poetryandpoet 
another ’80’s lyric i wrote today. go figure.
inevitably, an intuitive isn’t going to trust his own intuition. you start writing about the objective actuality of the inevitable, and end up getting prosy.