I've eaten the heart of my enemy chief
and the tender eyelid flesh, anus-like;
and the legs of an heiress on the cape
in winter, sand-blown peaks to sea crust
over a howl of ghost-gull chatter, gone
at once, beach glass the work of a loner
jilted into needles, creaked wood deck,
faded, painted, forgotten at the bottom
like a rich history lithographed in ink;
hydrophobic, tempestuous catastrophe