Beach-earth, breech-birth,
Spat from a spit of sand to roil endless on
Cracked pebbles and worn glass.
The crash comes again, like a sail through cold glass and over again
Mindless repletion, but it cannot be helped.
Eons ago it was set in motion, a frenzied froth of thin-blood ecstasy
Creeping like poor fingers to the shallows,
Gallows on dock's edge, a surefire cure for
All manner of trash.