Land's End
The souls of pavements
and the silence of footsteps
that have nowhere to go
slope down into the sea
here, at Land's End.
Salt licks air.
Something unfinished
lies in the net of the night
like fallen stars
and the railings
mating perpetually
with the sea's spray,
beckon to leap
into the mess of my past
hoping to become food for fish.
So many sandbags of me
heavy with touch
are lined against the shore's crags.
Vastness floats to me
seeps inside my jute.
I look like earth's lips:
Parched
Parted
Puckered
Dry, as all the nothingness
that pants like a tired, broken leaf
seeking Land's End
and then, the endless burn of seas.
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