today, the shore is washed by an off-brand yellow
accompanied by salty weeds
a man who overlooks the sea
strides from one foot
to the other,
slowly sinking with the sand
my toes tuck beneath its layers
laced with grain, and weave toward sharper objects that shine
purple, orange, silver, blue,
the shells are never the same
but the people always are;
season after season,
they're anything, but
changed
their blistered skin of snake
left sprawled and baking in the sun,
each will wear a coat of leather when all is said and done
its heat is sometimes silent
at other times deadly, and sometimes both
like the girl who went to the beach,
and fell into a propeller last spring
she was just taking a trip,
she didn’t mean to fall
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