Blues and smog and a golden quarter sink Toward the smell of sewage and marine life amidst hopes of notoriety and fame The cobalt supports a sea of turquoise with dreams As lofty as their shoulder pads But what professions result from a demand from salt and pepper Are those that justify radical dreams of nomadic existences Cargo and sailers and whales blowing exclamations I see the entire sky tinted with the brown Of us, the creation of our products and needs From which we all escape for a moment of starboard sliding These currents cannot budge our dreams for which we overpaid But did we? In another time this may be so However the disappointment of commerce leads people like Myself to revel in the luxuries of the older I am among the wine-sipping, cigar-pulling, tequila-thirsty cougars and leather skins We're all out to experience something odyssey-esque Getting in touch with the 70% we know nothing about Shivering in the surprising chill of the world's wind Taking part in the pleasure of the extravagance

Catalina had golf carts and primary colors and jagged-toothed ferns From my most recent memories, and not the best ones at that Where I retched on the catamaran and cringed at neighbor's declarations And time again lapses to bring the cobalt to my retinas In a more succulent way, this time Where I can utilize every plane of reflected light from the tainted sunset Something makes me believe the homogenous quilt before me Is interrupted by body masses wider than cars And more magnificent than than combined human will can summon.