I spy a kingdom in the dusk,

A cloudscape where troubles may fall like rain

Into a wide, forgetting sea.

It’s a long march to reach it.

March on and on until

Hometown heights seem like a model village.

And I keep marching, 

All the way to today’s scheduled precipice.

It’ll be gone in a few hours, but we’ll always have memories of this being the furthest we could go.

And I have to go marching on.

Until I’m up to my waist.

Until the dog walkers are just barnacled posts demarcating long lost divisions.

Until I feel a foam beard, and it pulls on my lips, and the salt is part of me.

Until I’m beneath and I’m blind and it roars past my ears

Like headphones made of shells, plugged into the world’s Walkman. 

Static, but it’s not static because nothing is ever truly static.

The sound moves. The sound shakes. The sound warbles and pounces.

As I walk through petrified forest, and my feet are slowly absorbed into 

the hidden oozing flesh of the earth

I hear everything

And it sounds like nothing.

My eyes trail up towards the roaring crust of the ocean.

It’s so calm below, but so cacophonous above.

Down here, false light retreats from impenetrable blue.

The kingdom hiding in the red wisps of dayfade is lost.

I know I never would have found it coming this way,

And I realise that’s kind of the point.