The sea eats glass Til glass itself In repose, reflection Far in the swathe Of polished rip Arm upraised Decrying buoyancy I am fastly turning There are thousands Gulled in lines Eating waffle cones On the esplanade Loudly squawking Laved in oil (Or made filthy by) As if the fatted ungulate In herb and festal truss Prepared itself for sacrifice The sea swallows them up Returns most Turns some Into nubs of glass Lost in gristling sands Small and bright as jellyfish Dying in the oil and ice-cream air Now, far out to sea I start dissolving
