Push, Push Against The Wash

Push, push against the wash
splash, scrunch, squelch in the crush
puncture, scratch inflated chains
remove the woundís stiff bandage pus

	Dilute the varnish come tíreplenish,
	I; the tide she tests red eyes
	I donít concede the sand might vanish
	- gulling salt, enjoying jeers -
	I clamplip stanch my stomachís rise. 

I edify, deride horizons
punch up at the plenty sky.
Instinctís stymied, mud tugs sense
Iíve had my bath electrified.

	Rockpool-knocked, the settle-bottleís
	smashed. Iíve washed, Iíve macron-ground
	and opportune flotsam is rocked
	- Iíve ducked the ring to scorn the shore -
	released the air Iíll need, 
					Iíve drowned.

Usurp, upend Ė Iíd circumvent Iíd
kick a castleís firmament
and stab an offered volleyball,
pull splinters from a lifeboat hole.

		ĎRetire!í I swear the skuas cry
		askew across a one-way wind,
		currents pluck my salted hide
		and box my peninsisland in

		chapped scabbed hand hefts shit-spat rock,
		and lobs it adversarywards, blocks
		out the scene horizoneyed, -

		I spit inít the reclining tide.
					- - -
The Wash: an ever-adversary;
when attacked, acts back enfuried.

But grains remain tíreclaim the purchase
ankles damp, 
			but Ďbove the surface.

(c) Michael Botur. All rights reserved.

The bottom half of an image of a flax frond.