deep beneath the water,
where God created fish
as models for picture postcards.
I've tired of the man-made waves
that throw me up against the shore.
I no longer wish to swim among the
toxic tides and needless oil slicks.
I've walked in too many dusthills,
where the ants, always industrious,
prepare for internecine struggle,
their mandibles snapping to and fro
like weapons of mass destruction.
Let's just float away,
staring at castles underwater,
gliding past neon fish and towers of coral,
without struggle, without pain.
