The Beach

The sun is a
furious so(u)l

beating
down
upon
the
miserable
beasts
below.

All of whom
hide their misery
from their mistresses

and share their symptoms
with their peers
like poetry.

Their fragile little frames
on display
for whomever would look their way.

The beach is (a) hell (of a place).

But, the moon is
a lightbulb

reflecting on the surface
of an
endless blue,

like a beacon in a bath tub.

We wave
our limbs like
children at a bus stop

saying goodbye to the
ones we love.

We really only know
what we know,

but isn’t it special
to

finally let life
echo

off the surface
of something bigger

than our misery?

The gulf
sheds its salty tears.

The beach is (a) beautiful (place).