Wrapped in a digestive absence
the citizen of beachtowels opposes
a dead eye to the inanity
of the ocean’s endless flourishes,
as though, perpetual spectator
she already knew the myriad
of plots there - expecting no watery mouth
to pronounce the aggrandizing period.
As – so we are told – the gods to demons
the demons to neuroses are fled
belly down, on her territorial towel
she dreams of sex, food and money instead.
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