Thursday, January 6, 2011

The Wind and the Beach

The Wind and the Beach

Here
here on the sand
the once glistening tawny sand
now dark
dark with the coming tide
dark in this winter's night

The wind dragon walks the starlit night with me and I stop
it tugs at my clothes like a frittty, my dog . . .
he was my only dog and I didn't cry when he died
because I was empty inside
with no tears inside
and now I walk beside this dark ocean of tears
and all that I might cry in this and all my other lives
all that I might cry . . .
will not make one inch of difference in the seas

Here
here on the sand
the once glistening tawny sand
now dark
dark with the coming tide
dark in this winter's night

The memory of her hands molds a sandcastle me
kinda like a sand snow man
not really standing but more a sphinx-like pose

And the wind . . . the wind whips up streamers of sand
casting them at me like insults

Parts of me start to abrade in this embrace
fingers and features are erased
I want to scream but have no mouth
I want to cry but have no eyes
I want . . . somehow that says it
I want . . . wanted . . .

Here
here on the sand
the once glistening tawny sand
now dark
dark with the coming tide
dark in this winter's night

The wind tires of dancing alone
and sets out for other places and other faces

What does the wind want?

--William C. Burns Jr.
my life? . . .
throw in a few flying zombies
and you'd have an episode of Dr. Who

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