How many arguments will I have with the wind?

Rehashing the offenses given and received?

Lying out my case before an imaginary court,

Passionate defenses, argued to an empty room?

Why does my mind drift toward these rocks, when I want to be out on the open sea?

Even now, I can hear an academic, a real prick, critique my words,

the use of three different metaphors in just seven lines.

And nonetheless, I type.