spume

you feel spurned
by the ocean, by the spume
of waves crashing down
all sea-glass-colored, and
the dangling hands
of seaweed in the pale green
light of the oncoming
breaker hanging open
with no one
to grasp them.
you feel rejected
by the moon and
by the stars, alone
out there
on the beach.

well, the sea
cares nothing for your
feelings. the moon
is doing just fine without you,
and has never felt
more fulfilled. the stars,
meanwhile, have yet
to even notice
your absence.

your message
in a bottle will never
wash up to shore.
it lies on the bottom
of the ocean, nibbled
by curious, stupid fish,
manhandled by octopi.
the waves have heard it all
before, and the
sharp-toothed sharks
would love to tear you
to ribbons if they could.

if you want an answer,
try telling the wind,
and see
who’s listening.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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