Cliffs faced my perpetual circuit, sails fattening on their meal of air, seagulls screaming.

 

My boat entered cliff shadows. Water-engraved silver engulfed a floating flag at my circuit's furthest point, cliffs, oblivion-purple, beyond the flag. 

 

I turned at the flag towards a marble dome that faced my circuit. Parrots, in cobalt above curved-dome contentment, soared like emblems of promise. 

 

To reach dome bliss, you had to ascend a ramp that, despite its grey flatness, offered plenitude, for it led to Peace. 

 

I always lowered the sails near the ramp. Touching it caused its disintegration. I always had to jump back onto the boat and go around again. Hope spouts shoots in most conditions.  

 

The cliffs’ bosoms offered reflection before the next chance; a proper time to act existed, but, impatient, I raced over blue, birds darting, sail-kissing wind yielding mournful yearning, water thundering on rock, palms exploding with green eruptions, seagulls bobbing on azure. 

 

I rounded the flag, turning from oblivion to face freedom. 

 

I lowered the sails. The ramp faced ferns, my heart contracting like a sea retreating from a cliff, then exploding against it in passionate return.

 

I stepped onto the ramp. Snakes, spiders, and cockroaches swarmed upon the ramp amid a fly haze. I leapt back onto the boat. Next time around, the ramp disappeared again in insect mist. I went round and round, waves surrounding my course, the noise outside my perpetuity like a fire raging against oblivion.  

 

The ramp became insect clouds again. Spiders covered beaches beside the ramp’s insect swarm, the ramp obscured under restless wings. I stepped upon it, ants marauding; I crushed ants by bouncing tennis balls, limbs smashed; the ants still came. 

 

I scrambled back onto the boat, ants, diving into liquid, trying to eat me. 

 

I went round and round, the ramp forever elusive amid mists of mites and fogs of fangs and clouds of claws.

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