Poems on a dead beach

Midnight conversations,
Covered up in reconciliations.
Thoughts on the table,
these small hours unquestionable,
feeling my heart beat uncontrollably.
Is this some kind of prediction from affection?
Some delusion from predilection?
Burying wisdom in incantation.
Working my charm through argot,
through an oblivion teapot.
Miscontruction on my bliss, on my joy.
Waves leading the strength to the void.
The gears that come up with happiness,
Are no longer tearing meaningless access.
The loner thinker is no longer whipped,
She is unplugged by this third rock from the sun,
But you cannot take the plastic planet from the man,
Only take down the crystal clear plan.