The waves are churned to foam.
The sight mesmerizes.
My mind is miles from home.

My seated self does roam --
chaos that surprises,
like waves are churned to foam.

Like one w/ Capgras Syndrome,
hustler mistrust arises.
My mind 's wary of home. 

I focus on the chrome,
but my ear recognizes
the waves that churn to foam.

I've vagabond chromosomes,
but still the thought chastises:
"Your mind is miles from home!"

I'm sitting all alone,
and my mind surmises:
Like waves churned to foam,
your mind 's so far from home.