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ME AND THE SEA I
looked and watched sea in all its glory, I
thought I heard it speaking. Slightest
murmur and faint rush beneath the stillness, Stillness
of the bay, as it lay constrained in its Temporary
straight jacket, Not
hospital white, but a slick purple black, As
if dyed for disguise. It
spoke but without a mouth or tongue or voice Like
a terror stilled face, Like
a burn. But
at sunrise the sea was signal The
burnished surface of a God composed of multitudes of Shining
bee-stung eyes. Dawn
comes and goes Like
a woman rising from her bed And
then returning, The
bed-linen softening with the Constant
downpour of love and its Eternal
nectar and dreams, and Those
orgasmic sighs and sweat-laden pants. Daylight
like a pox mark Where
rocks lie like road-side beggars, So
publicly exposed. And
at night there’s the moon’s brightness Siphoned
off by the shore lights as if Sickening. The
low roofs of the tattered beach shacks, Poised
as hunches that don’t spring. That
won’t ever, Ever
spring while a light fluorescence Of
municipal lights. Spreads
beneath the landscape of a Beautiful
village, a colour of Deep
green water, Water of the sea |