The sun’s wrath has spiked,

Magma flares planted within the black asphalt.

And I’ve come to talk to the sea.  

 

Dilapidated sandals slip off, onto 

Slithery, silent sand. 

A few sh-sh-sh’s of soft,

a little ssha-ssha’s of rocks 

barely able of categorizing as sand.

 

A taste of unending crunch and 

disgusting blandness in the mouth

a spit or two in the flooring. 

He who controls the spice controls the universe.

 

A content sigh, 

a seat on a rock. 

A flipping of pages, 

a waiting glance.

 

O great sprawl above the deepest ground, 

How does life taste, 

Being the largest being under the sun?

 

A soft seafoam breeze 

Sighs itself through the leaves. 

 

I am the beginning and the end.

Your notebook, when you’re through with it, 

comes back to me. 

Your buildings, too.

Everything does, when time runs. 

 

But now, in the here, the existing time, 

You see nothing but the sky within me, and the stars in the night. 

My only purpose is so you can see others. 

 

A heady breeze and a swish of pens. 

Across hard, sharp rocks and 

Smooth, pillowy sand I walk away.