Plastic Tips

I rode from Pacific crests on plastic tips but only reached the ankles, not the hips. Granted there were certain things that could be done from that position, but my interests lay elsewhere and my pants were full. I'm not one to reach for the prize without having reached the podium. And plastic tips only get you so far.

Glimpses make it worse, though. Like a fake glass of water when you're fairly thirsty. Sure, you could just take it and swig, but that would be accepting deceit. And deceit is not something I'm willing to rest on. Everyone else may do it day to day (via night), but I have pure, clean-cut intentions. No washing powder behind these ears.

I did, however, gather up my plastic tips and placed them on my desk. After close inspection, I discovered that most of them consisted of nothing more than worthless advice, whilst the rest were divided between endless peaks, suspicious glancing blows and loose, perpetual change. It's a wonder they got me this far.

I made a loose grab for ships on changing tides but there's more to me and less besides. There's still hope, or so I've heard. I could claw together a small fortune and sing its greasy melody to superannuation. And then we'd really start living. Breathing, too. It's been so long since they sent word.

Plastic tips can creep and grind from any pocket or mouth. Each one can observe your sleeping, found your finding and lock your housing. It's a pity none of them can smile. But I won't split or milk their honey or grit their tiling. I'll just lie back and say, "Here lies a man stooped in truth and steeped in youth. With fanciful manners and daily planners, he uses four walls to keep up the roof." But without rhyming, obviously.