"I've got bulldog skin"

[burnunit]

I am not a campfire nor an eyrie of women, our wings spread and eyes keened for distant prey. I am not ready to gasp at the head breaking those waves out there. Encrusted with shells dripping red sea vegetables. A pouring of spit from their mouths, coughing, the smiling ones rise from the deep. O sea creature! O bosom of my memory, my spit my refractory lie-spinning! Exhale them on us, to crawl slowly up the shore, lie upon the grass and heave heave heave. I hear the gardener call to the crows, call to me and I feel the bent waves, the sweet hiccough of salt-air.