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.
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