Pressed into the sand, one eye milky and dry.
Black feathered neck matted, throat exposed sent backward.
Idling minivans elbow into parking lot tables, plastic liners stretched over can rims.
My stench revealed, hovering with flies.
Fingers of tide trying to reach, hoping to clean me away.
Ulna bared white and still, waiting to be softly sanded up and down the slope.
Fleas are coming together, hopping in humid frenzy.
Twisted leg fallen over the horizon, end unseen.
Thumping breathing stride-train passes behind.
Gray haired haunted cackle pierces the distance.
Chattering chopping voices raise like flags.
Lighter fluid clouds float on the breeze like poison kites.
It's going to be a long day.