Arts + Scene » Poetry

No Fish



Here I am again
Silhouetted on wet sand.

The ocean is furiously
Boiling in white caps,

As I cast another shrimp
Dreaming of Red Tails.

Flanked by sandstone
Holding tight to fossils

No longer dining
Along the Lost Coast.

Isolation is best served
On endless horizons,

With a dash of sea salt
Teasing our palates.

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