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.