I feel trapped in my old life
Like a hermit crab that won’t abandon its shell
It is so curled
Into its whorl of habits.
The seashore wails and wails
Its single, filial demand—
Repetitious as a herd of commodities brokers
Shouting in their calico patchwork of blazers
Until the final bell.
How can I change if the sea won’t?
My yearning stands straight out like a flag, same as ever.
Seaweed everywhere,
Beaten brown and soft as a drenched felt hat,
Fits itself alluringly
To the rocks,
Adapting crash by crash by crash.
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Image by Jitze Couperus.
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