Floating the edge of insanity
with a torn umbrella
and a book of hello,
written in a thousand tongues.

Not that it matters,
if you stop talking for long enough,
no-one hears when you do.

Pulling at loose threads, knowing
sooner or later they'll come undone
and the tea wont be so cosy anymore,

flip-flop goes the fish on dry land
slowly strangled by the air.

Boxed off and en route,
swaddled, this way up please,
to my comfy cushioned coffer.