Words That Burn

Ocean Beach, by Randall Mann (1972-)

seems cruel this August,

the skeletal chill,

even the gulls a little

ambivalent.  There are

 

warnings everywhere,

what passes for warning:

kelp like dead sea

creatures, ropy tails and flies;

 

the dog stalking the crow.

There’s no getting around it,

either, the water, its epic

associations, etc.

 

the foggy pull of the tide

toward the belated,

the false, the near tears. Beauty lies,

lies in unbeauty.