The hopeful grip of the cool wind

blows my mind. We regress with

each shuffled step along the sand.

The rattle of keys tells me I’m home

and still lost. Let the door slam and

the foundations utter their finite

discontent; it mirrors my own. Blow

down the walls with puckered lips

that smack filaments to almost

shatter a bright noise. There will

always remain a dream of elsewhere

and this dream rages through

concrete as reanimated bone; which

would quiver and buzz just the same.