Ommateum

The scent of morning toast wafts throughout this little house down on the coast

Captains log, from the room where I pace the most

Little ramblers, scattered along the inlet, just a stones throw away

From the place where they used to race the boats

With no place to go, the sound of the motors cuts through the air like a hacksaw

Just in time to interrupt my favorite show

The virtues of reticence and sterility I've acquired

At the expense of losing all remaining patience, though

Well, y'know. heres the thing. it's kind of related, so

Something I even had to pray about a couple days ago

Suddenly veered off, on an unfamiliar, shaky road

With brain fog and phantom whiffs of gin that irritate my nose