crossing the South China Sea as analgesia

One day we will all be like this—the boat’s sickening pitch, & the delicateness needless, consumable. How everything here naturally passes into night, a room w/o walls. Could mindlessness keep us alive? Could bright colors? Tonight I am thinking of the young woman who dreams of her father being shot in the head. Imagine needing to believe the one you love has been destroyed. Now it is after midnight—the spindrift lunar & diaphanous. Here alone on deck could I make peace w/it all in thirty seconds—the water’s inherent rising, the gasping for air? I have never seen such omnipresence, such vast dreamlessness— but I too am such things. What does it mean to be eroded? What would be the significance of slipping one leg over the rail & straddling the indifference? Yes. Once upon a time we spent three days on a boat out of Kobé, Japan. All night the waves. All night the somnambulistic urges. Or how as children we would swim in a hard rain—the lake’s surface ragged & torn, but underneath the roots of the water lilies like ladders trailing down into the marvelous.