Islands

We live our lives on islands, shelter
ourselves from torrents of grey despair,
blink emptily at the seas around us,
infinite planes of steely blue nothingness,
shifting waves making predetermined
geometric deviations from the path.
Analytical ripples interfere each other
and multiply; deserted dreams split veins
as lonely - God! - lonely toes tremble on
the meter of our imminent deaths.

And a cracked Coke bottle is filled with pulp,
(some doomed cry for help)
Lost in the great seascape of time -- lost to
the space between the islands we live on.