I walk past it, my feet squishing into the plush ground,
punctured slightly by its presence,
skewing my thoughts, my fear scaling like a wave
of electricity that might be hiding sheer tentacles
beneath the sand.
It looked tarnished and forgotten
like a queen of cheap hotel rooms–
stuffed inside holes in the walls,
stitched haphazardly together with passing time,
behind oily glass, crumbling ground.
It was pressed, almost flat, with the weight
of looming rocks.
No, it never splashed, but sank slowly,
deeper into dirty motes. Rotting.
It’s squishy opaqueness slinks under a rock…
I regret not digging my fingers into the cold,
dark sand, fumbling with its gooey body,
tossing, harmlessly, back to sea.
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