Down by the frothy-fingered reach of the greedy tides on the beach lingering, lounging on the sand— slimy, salty, seeking with hand for what the sea has yet to take with each moon-glossed, waking wave’s break…
Down, down, down where the waves all crash, and beneath stars that glint and flash, a shell breaches the sudsy surf, dragged by a long arm on the turf, an arm black like a seasnail’s skin and slimy as a salesman’s grin.
The voice within the shell beckons soft as the shoreline that reckons the flotsam of the ships aground on the reef and its heartbeat sound— the desires that have been denied by Life, by Love, by tempting tide.
And the voice laps oft at the edge of the Otherworld, at that ledge between the waking and the dream, between daylight and how things seem to the eye that sleeps otherwise below the waves and moonlit skies.
The local pastor passes by and gemstones ensorcel his eye… The mayor glimpses shiny gold and nascent greed grows overbold… The wanton sees a dress to wear like a jellyfish floating fair… The widow hears the long-lost tune of her husband who drowned last June…
Hear you that voice that calls to thee? Hear you that sweet-tongued usury? It is his claim he offers much if you do not shrink from his touch and give what he asks by his whim— toe or tongue or a lithesome limb. The cost is sunk, gone, like a hook and the bait gone, too, oft mistook as a thing fishermen can lose without seeing the gain they choose.
“Tell me your wish, O friend of mine, and I’ll retrieve from bitter brine, whether gold bauble or glinting jewel I shall bring up a gift of Yule. All I ask, dearest friend of mine, is a bit o’ this…bit o’ thine, and that you see how fine a friend I am to you unto the end.”
Refrain Come! Follow my nautilus shell, spiraling round and down and down, and forfeit all you have to sell for riches, rank, revenge, renown! Come! Do not waste the tidal hour, but bring forth what things you may trade to sweeten a life grown so sour within wreckage the tides have made!
Haiku The blinds half-open, neon light, her nude body striped like a tiger.
Rhyme Blinds half-open, the neon light clawed through to the wet, steamy bed, her bare breasts were striped black and white with hot light and cool shade. I said, “Do you always play with your food?” She giggled, wiped froth off her lips and said, “When I am in the mood.” Legs spread, she gyrated her hips. Lounging like a tigress she growled as she pulled me atop her pelt. “Feed me,” she said, her moans so loud, and the moist jungle could be felt.