The Shining Amphitrite

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.