I am ship wrecked on the angled grey peebled shore
stuck up there so far
the next tides won't pull me back in
hear the low humm of my pain
so I am here clumsy but stately
strangely off angle yet perfectly pointing back
to those sinsterly white english cliffs
stationarily insane
Speaking to the gulls with my sails
telling them of my years at sea what I sought out
some of them just smirk beaky cheek now
Likea smile riding the riptide up a seven foot wave
curling in derision's blasting grace
so my wood dries
I feel the keel deep under these stones
longing to drag it all back into the water
to feel the freedom chaos and aimless passion
of the sea
I feel the tips of the low waves lap
like an invitation I had from a false friend
longing to see me dive headfirst into protruding rocks
that my gore would entertain for enough minutes as
it would take them to find the new victim
alas such ones drowned now as the sail kicks up
Oh Im grinding back into the froth
My structure sound and tough
exiting the nightmare of the land
to be lost once more on the meer the mar
the ocean that has almost no end
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