His mind a blank marine horizon training its own stunt double in Dubai
its firm spots long eroded by the rising tide that lifts fuck all
there is no land beneath him, quite the opposite in fact.
Ghosts ship automated threats to idle ports, as friends/close enemies who matter mourn a ‘powerful policy brain’.
The rest of us are here to stay. It’s obit hour.
Roll down history’s balaclava, cover up the hazy spots where sky & ocean don’t cohere.
Minister, you fade with every sovereign inch the sea extracts
We hope you learnt to swim.