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Shells

On  sea’s frothing mouth,
A silhouette was walking

Against baby sun, its eyes
Torn and torn , on waves.

The canvas bag on its back
Had things puked by sea.

I hope it is shells plucked
By its eyes torn on waves.

 

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Sea’s belly-ache

In between June and August,
Sea will sweat on our panes.
It will be no rain but a vapor.

Sea’s wind is at mom’s home.
When wind will tire of mom,
Fury will come riding waves,

Like a hopping mad hoopoe
Or some such tropical bird,
A moody exotic bird wildly

Gesturing abuses into glass.
A hoopoe does not like trees
Nor poor men’s earth walls.

Wind has  swirl in sea belly.
Each year sea has bellyache
Coming after sweat on glass.
.

 

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Overwhelmed

I am overwhelmed by a golden evening
When it comes with the sounds of cattle,

In a distance, of dust from angular hoofs
Overwhelming mud-tracks up to the sky.

The cattle are overwhelmed by their time
By milk overflowing from the red udders

In the thin jet-streams that overwhelm us
In our faces behind a morning’s hind legs.

Fleas overwhelm them in their hind legs
At a tail that seems the end of the world.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by words
Flowing smoother than the milk streams.