Thoughts are impediments
Grown by the sea, with the tide meandering
For such growth under the sun.

Such are the words of a crackpot,
Dejected and seasick, yet among dry woods,
Heads are bowed in thoughts.

Thoughts are primitive.
The seething wavelength caresses the void.
And the mind, like ears of grains, stand.

Now, between these lone thoughts that are
Primitive, and the Essays unwritten, yet
Unorthodox, lie my fears . . .

Primitive thoughts, written, are
Unorthodox essays
Unknown.