Frames

Some  men  are of no bodies
But light’s shadows at dawn

Pointing their vague fingers
At strange objects in far sea.

Others live a death moment,
As dead turtles of live crows.

Some are just fishes caught
In the fisher men’s moment.

A few are silhouettes at sea
Floating into its inner heart.

Others are rocks on beach,
Flaunting their green moss.

 

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Hum in the toilet

At midnight, you wake up for a piss.
You hear  sea’s hum in the window.

It is the sea’s narrative where it left
Yesterday and world went on usual.

Sea’s waves fuse world’s narratives
As single indistinguishable prattle,

A meaningless gibberish emerging
From a world’s non sequitur events.