“The lone and level sands stretch far away”
And pieces of us dot the sand
Like a colorful crumb trail
From an antique land.
Humans crumble in bits and pieces
And end up on the beaches,
And today, a gray day,
I pick up bits and pieces:
Cigarettes and surgical masks
Bottlecaps and wine stoppers,
The tide tickles my toes and offers
A pill bottle and a seaweed Whopper.
The sea cycles the vices
And the progeny of vices.
I smoke cigs, too,
Their filters a Percy Bysshe Pedestal
Telling a story
Long after I degrade.