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Personal Note:

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Poem

What he forgot 
while he was lying 
on the beach
wriggling his toes
in the warm sand
thinking it pliable 
with the sensual 
hand-in-hand,
was that given 
enough heat, 
sand melts,
becomes glass,
not so pliable 
it has the capacity 
to break and shatter, 
worse, 
when you consider 
all things 
about 
sharp edges,
it can hurt
unintentionally,
walking barefeet,
either way it 
has the capacity to
make people 
bleed,
add in a little 
lightening,
weaponised 
fulgurite,
caught in the middle
of all that,
you 
could crumble 
like Lot’s wife 
looking back,
trying to find 
an ounce of good
in a grain of sand, 
abandoned
with the sting 
of salt in wounds 
split wide open
laid useless 
under a merciless sun 

I’d rather be 
a very deep 
cool 
ever-changing
kaleidoscopic
sentient 
blue ocean,
in command

rolling over the sand 
bringing it back out with me
I'd carry it in my mouth in my mind
keep it wet
where it would live 
inside the urgency 
of my crashing body
to dance with it in the flow 
transporting it to other realms 
on the slippery backs 
of smooth skinned 
dolphins, 
swallowed 
in the slick, sharp
wide open smiles
of the ancient 
megalodon
looking for his 
lost teeth,
where there, he's gone
all Neptune,
chasing sirens
and their pearls
seeking amongst 
the foamy wash
of them all, 

the shining  
Amphitrite 




Candide Diderot. ‘24 





"Milk", Garbage.

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