Crushed into a fog

Blown across a tooth edged ridge where who cares what gathers in the polished white gutter

Smoothed bullets. Nails sliced to chalk; skeletal indents along stretched fingers, tracing brailled pulp into a pocket

Picked raw. Fretted.

Shaled up from the sea, soaked dusty glidants, lustrous in repose. Soapstone Mona Lisas

Parodied for pennies at the roadside. Leached homophones

Peddled by the pier, wrung through a bruise-blue mist, idle aloud –

Owed less than their own weight in tears

Worth less still