A Day On The Beach
She scratches the walls inside her shell,
feasting upon her eyelids’ dew,
we all are children. But who could tell?
How much is it, for the bread you sell?
Cadavers draped across branches of yew,
she scratches the walls inside her shell.
The weeds laid down their guns for a spell
(I think it’s time I lay down too).
We all are children. But who could tell?
Chairs and tables dusty; clutter in her cell.
There’s a God up there she’s gonna sue,
she scratches the walls inside her shell.
A red tube shoved down her well:
gotta save the angel going black and blue!
We all are children. But who could tell?
Squirrels chatter as her chest swells.
A patch, a stitch, an incision…I’m new!
She scratches the walls inside her shell.
We all are children, but who could tell?
© 2016