When the mind is bore by obligation,
The boardwalk repeatedly withdrawn,
What becomes of the will to trudge on?

Parched man,

You could clench my eyes but only so much
remained to be wrung,
that choke temporary:
my neck made a stake prior.
Those waves which you begged
to irk me to jump
now carry up my head,
I am not held under as envisioned.
Your grasp was not that of the ocean's,
for its does not squeeze,
nor perforate my skin for contents,
but plump life inside of it
to disperse to other worlds,
as yours expires in an evaporating puddle.