The raving loneliness in the pacific

[Lorenzo]

-Lorenzo



There in a cottage sits a docile crab,
settled in his little shell,

evasion.

the sea gulls , the rampant tourists, the heat strokes overbearing

happiness.

in the swift sunrises, and settling sunsets, memories of sweet and distant shores called home.

romanticism.

the deep cool waters of the pacific trench, by palau, by marianas, by other crabs of like , to emulsify in breadth and totality

irate.

when other crabs invade natural delineated lines of separation. mechanisms kick in.

life.

of the hermit crab.

[Lorenzo]

-Lorenzo




there on the blasted isles sits the old crab,

where are the old octopuses of old , those dreaded sucklers who used to attack me, chides the crab

oh, gone are the octopuses of youth, the challenge of the day, the throbbing of the suck.

no more, no more, the octopuses of youth. a vast!

oh but there is one more thing one gets to look for and await in circumstance, sir crab.

you ask: what is it, dear young crab?

i say: the hardened shell on your back!

it shall be so strong that even the tides during monsoon shall fail in ripping you out of it.

the crab sinks back into his shell.

pondering as always.

ah, it was a good day.

his claw clatters a bit.

then. silence.