His Truman-esque Show stretches to Peacehaven
in his hoax East Sussex
Here he sucks on sea air tasting far away origins –
but no sandy footprints –
shores are shingle-thick & slope down to meet a
cold dip of toes – no sun
from falling lamps/ Paint your backdrops in green –
your long tales are fakes
& Zoom will not save any alliance built on groping/
A blind fool counts waves
as they break [over bared flesh on beaches] He’ll sit
& count for a seventh curl
but love will not deliver an easy refrain – a gale blows
away his lust-pulled attire
as he stands & sighs – he is offered no focus pull to
ease him from this scene
