The steam-driven calliope churning underwater.
Bells in the kelp grove.
A slab of concrete rotting on the beach.
I’ve got a hymnal full of the stuff.
All tricked out & rationalized
like a full-metal bikini swamp anchored to the reef
slowly swaying like a grass skirt beneath the waves
with hand-carved flames
as a classical rendition of the same war of attrition
which is never enough it seems nothing ever really is
you had to be there
from the froth of Ocean crossing
to layered transparencies in the book of the evening sky
& I suppose the appropriate body art
which highlights the memorial slideshow
that begins & ends