2 O'Clock

beyond this wall of cinder block
an endless barrage of crashing waves flock.
caught in the moon’s mystifying masquerade
as if in a net woven by a sweet serenade,
they’re locked in a push and pull
that can never be full,
with attempts to evade
unknowingly leading to a coastal invade.
this lunar court of one
has deliberated all to be undone,
fabricating an advance upon this turmoiled shore
by sending water into the flesh of sand to bore,
to cling to every grain as an interlace,
to displace and replace its face.
and now with the beach’s scars unsewn
and a hefty unnatural groan,
no mercy is shown as organs continue to unravel
and ribs shatter by the smash of the moon’s gavel.
in the risen bench a pale face looks below
and craters coalesce into a smile with a devilish glow,
satisfied by another one of their facets
to create an unchallengeable upset,
as no one can tell
that anything even fell
until hours have passed
and its structure has been cast;
only the sound of the crash
hints at the unseen bash
that all that is loose is uproot,
and kicked by a redundant boot.
      

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