The white picket fence

You sat on for endless days,

has washed up from nowhere.

A driftwood spinal cord

unfolds from a deflective surface,

vacant of ripples, devoid of vibration.

Neutrality tips no scales

scattering your unspoken faces,

into muddied shallow waters.

With no depths to discover

boldly offering emptiness.

Fools gold wrapped in a muslin cloth.

Checking into dissolute terminals,

flying off to a honeycomb horizon,

carrying effervescent cargo.