Caroline and the critics

A glacial whirl of critics
advises me to enjoy
the breeze on Caroline’s yacht
delivering fresh sentences to clean.

Stranded seashells lumped with weeds
adorn tombs for dissolved fish
that flee their exoskeletons,
left behind like ghostly graves.

The joy of falling apart!

Nothing remains but particles
in a suspected storyline, meanings
soaked dry in mud, concealed
indifferences spread

like beauties on the sand
to be picked up and adored.

They paint a smile on Caroline.

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