Blank Sandstone

It?s the beach I want,
Nothing more
Just waves against?
?crashing against the
shore. Inside and around my head.
I need the cool of
An ice cube,
As it melts along my
Forehead into streams
That lead to the beaches.

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Some poems come about in the strangest ways, this is one of them. It started out as a poem about the beach, which I have done before, no big deal, but as I was writing I just turned it into this weird metaphor about ice cubes.

All written material on this page is © 2000 Cynthia Clark

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PAGE CREATED: January 27, 2000
LAST UPDATED: January 27, 2000

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