white beard
the ocean ghost recites his poemsjust beyond the tracks of a cold night,
thrown.
beneath the stars he stares out there
past black nighttime sky with both eyes
wide.
and the size of the scene, it's immensity,
reminds him his hair isn't so long after
all.
and as long as his lungs reach to scream,
he continues, as the empty glass turtle shell
yells
back like a whale at the wind that's made it's
way in thru a throat that refuses to
choke.
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