Saxicoline creature in a house of
Stone, seaweed climbing up the walls of
Solitude, crabs moving sideways
In and out of crated rooms
The pits of sand growing deeper
By the hour
Waves crashing without remorse
For damage, though natural
Is quite unwonted in brine of
Festering wounds.
(Previously published in m.e.stubbs poetry journal, Vol.2, Issue 2, November 2000)
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