
Scribed in sand and washed asunder
by a wayward wave, it leaves shore
weeping with its watery disappearance.
Cut from cloth and nappy, buckled
ribbon gathered to a sharp edge
of wanting more than frilly fondness.
A jagged sign scrolling across a ticker tape
measurement of scars and scores
of something not quite right with mass and matter.
This knotted-handful of youthful lust
is beaten to death by an earthly angst of age
that marks its death pulse by pulse.



3 old applause
