Week 40 - Swirling Sea

Another short form piece that distils madness into more madness. How does anyone write poetry without feeling like a bit of an ass?

Swirling Sea


In a plastic shop, with a brain now unhinged,

Stricken by hunger and broken by reams,

Of information come tumbling like packets of string.


Sometimes when I stop, I wait to catch up.

It’s a bitch of a time, running circles on spot,

Watching someone ahead who’s fallen to flop.


So I stop and stick quick, and inhale noodled plastic,

Feeling the taste of salt and cool splashback.

Waving my arms, head just above static.


For the world swirls in a sea, whether blue I’ve forgot

And for that we are grateful

But for that we are lost.



Words copyright Matt Vesely. Image copyright David Keen.