It rains continuously as I drive north along Marmion Avenue.
‘It's just a shack,' Julia had said. ‘Don't say you weren't warned.'
I turn the key and push the door inwards, leaving my
... [+]
There is a place by the ocean,
a burial site for flesh and steel
beasts
where mast meets cross
and mermaid bowsprit conspires
with moss-choked stone angel.
The insects falter in their
primordial dance,
missteps of appendages
and antennae.
They nibble on salt-corroded metal
and nestle in rot-sweet chest cavities.
And there, below the ground,
paying the baffled insects no mind,
the ship and human bones
waltz on.