12.22.2010

Timpani waves and other cliches

By the time you read this
I will have already
been gone

On a train
to the coast

Maine maybe

Blend in
with the
gray shore

Bend my head back
and listen as
waves hit jagged rock

And envy their
endless battle

A wistful french horn
dancing in and out
of earshot

There's a red roofed
house there

On the beach
And it stands resolute
like an old man with
missing teeth and
rancid breath

Spitting into the wind
and cursing circumstance

Unbalanced, wavering.
Head low and eyes
watering from the
salty ocean wind.

And I'll uproot
every lighthouse
from its perch

This will be my
masterpiece

Another boring love
letter written in
the sands of a beach
in Maine



I'll take to the
sky and look
down on what we've
done

And be glad in it

With love,

Sloane

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