dull conversation

Dull conversation over our heads
Submerged immersed as we are
With the baby and the bathysphere
Breathing in thought bubbles
That rise to the mirrored surface
Fractured as a fresnel lens
So to does it too cast far and wide
The foghorn calls her to my side

And another thing altogether again
All those things she pretends to
Taking her time to air her airs
Surprised with such crackerjackery
Wisdoms in tiny bits and useless toys
Herein our fin-de-ciecle cycles
No wonder that her ass is sore
When our seat of it is such a bore

Lonely is as lonely does doesn’t it
So to it so he go where I go too
Pacing as I am back and forth
Thinking of her clever native tongue
Fish chip deep in pub sheaves
Nursing barley beer for our burns
And here she kisses in absinth
Talking breaks from planc to plinth

These Pomo with their wiry ways
Woven stories so I too it cannot unwind
Me wearing my own portrait in old oil paint
Wanting only to show her my sketchy trade
Each button on her shirt seems a mile
Looking forward to an undiscovered country
Making her moves in moody moves
Wishing her in a triptych of clever nudes