Wednesday, August 5, 2009

intide

Walls are closing in
Brick behind me, waves ahead
Damp brittle sand gives way underfoot
Recent bootprints half chewed, half swallowed
I gulp the air and taste salt
I'm not ready for the assault
Of icy waters burning cold as they rolled
My skin feels dried and torn and cut
I think I'll soon be dead
Then I'll start again.

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