Tide

The ocean
is the
Memory (like many things amor-p(i)ous)
of the steadfast earth.

God is in the ocean, I think,
though I doubt it is large enough for him all the time,
(as (da) big (rk) as it is).

Some call it rabid,
its mouth (for swallowing->)
f l e ck ed
with such
viole(n)t(ly) foam.

I prefer:
The ocean is a great infant nursing its mother,
land.
Or perhaps the ocean could be
land's mother.

Either way,
a father stands
proudly
over them,
with his arms (tenderly)
wrapped around them both.

An Exorcism

Pulses in a heart's rhythm,
Save me, Save me, Save me
Another voice emerging from its schism,
waves, and waves, and painful waves of light
O sinner, plead for life amidst the holiness of Christ,
never, never, never

Obsidian idol eyes,
Idly expiring sighs
vaguely reminiscent
of oblivion.

Thy teeth are as a flock,
Thy teeth, thy teeth are as a flock
of screaming lambs behind a slaughterhouse door.

Comments on a Metal Surface