of conch & sand

august at the atlantic, amaranthine hues of grey. read & wrote on blistered feet, soft-serve ice cream, gull's clatter.



...

There was a stare (yes, was) right here (hope it finds me). Right where the moon blared down its tinny gap. Prevalent predator. Originating—where? Smoke and opal, compressed to a null. Hey orb, what lives in that shell heath, shriek shack? Hey bleach-blink, sheen-gaze, pearl-pith—root of worlds. Splinter in the void’s eye, orphan. Got a plan. Got a sea-stitch here in my pocket, like to drop. Limned lozenge. William Tell’s pale apple on sable skull. Straggler. Magician’s vague lady, hacked in twain. Punk’s smooth shiv slid decisive, between the sky’s ribs. Waverer, rumor, rock-pit. Pawn, gaud. Vacancy’s ambassador, other—we are here.
-- "There was a stare," Karen Volkman