the cars that wash
down the boulevard,
take the wave sounds
with them, leaving
low tide markers,
deaf to the rush
of those metal wave
makers, some street
walker, wobbles on
high heels, and
weaves while waving
wandering from grass
to curb, wanting a
lift, cause life is a beach,
and all she can see for
miles is sand castles,
empty of their dreams,
empty like her,
wanting more than
sand dollars and the
stings of the jellyfish.


©DWE102013