The rational ocean

by mudrhetoric

My words are as spittle.
They drip.
They drab.
They drool.

I slabber as one gorging.
As one who cannot help himself.
As one caught in the throes of compulsion.
The dribbling of the ocean.

I do this thing without reason.
This was predestined.
I cannot imagine otherwise.
Thus it is not for this is the end of my horizon.