We unsurely ran, senses firing and offsetting strobes towards a glittering shawl, set low around a sightlessly curved neck of the horizon. Coastline on our feet, a burning beach on our soles, to the water then, for our souls.
As you stare; stop looking… for answers on every wave, and under the tiring sun that lowers into its new water bed: forever creased. Each nearing roll of surf perpetually attends to the beach where you wander; reaching out and soaking, smoothing scars of soft land and human hand, from land loving creatures.
The bubbling roar of white noise; rising and dipping in volume; teasing your ears into hearing frequencies from lost radios stations: faulty and alluring. Every time this happens something is taken from you, soon replaced by a specific space to lighten your walk inland.
All this… as you stand, feet sucked by gooey miniature rocks that table gels of dead jelly fish; glistening like little brains of the sea; forced up upon confusion and violence from the mighty froths of wash.
Some days, I’ve inhaled boulders,
Expelled sand-dunes at every breath,
Created desserts full of anagrams,
Formed beaches; of enormous breadth.
The water rushes in
As an irresistable force
Towards distant twinkling lights
There
Miniature soldiers
Talk amongst each other
And their glow bugs
Sleep flying
Over and on crumbly cake ramparts
So overlooked
By a hovering fluoresent luna
Showering its moonbeams
While particular water
Lick sandcastles
Fragile upon themselves
With amateurish foundations
And so it’s true!
By children they are best made
They so do implore
The Little
Are softly strengthening
Tatty-bent-books
The boundless
Seeping
In old folklore
I Eat Let.ers 