Sand State

Chuntering up the zig zag.
A slope, my calves,
ruined now and on a beach day,
chafed feet, sand thumbed between
and out.

The sand as straw and the mother deal brokered,
plaintive incantations towards the cliff top, if you can do this, 
then

You can and you will

As the ice-cream tacks, forms rings round my wrists, I am, with sand.

And sand, with me, my feet hawed in canvas, towards the cliff top,
I was once with sand, it should not be,
with me.
You leave one state, enter another, and always now in leaving;
I am surely better than this,
and in leaving, just know why.

1982, an early flicking of the Vs,
it will not rub me raw,
I am better than this.