Do you think you can tell
the knife from the gun,
thick forest from seas,
the ticks from the fleas,
or are the details make-believe?
Do you think you can smell
the armpit of sadness,
the discarded rind,
the basil muddled with lime,
or were truths tasted for the last time?
Do you think you can hear
the forgotten lyre,
the sirens hiccuping,
the looped meme,
the cliffside scream,
or are these heavy sounds drowning?
I wish you were near
to slow the sinking,
fan the warmer winds,
play the right rhythm,
teach me how to swim
in this roily sea.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
This was written for a Pink Floyd inspiration contest.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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