The seaside bluff shrouded under a murky veil
I awaken from thick damp slumber,
Irritated as hell
The debut of the day,
Mutating from groggy to an obscure coastal narcosis
The sky angry,
A charcoal collage of inland moving billows and swirls
Outside my window, the sea expresses its temper
Utterly pissed and possessed
Something is stewing
Vast black waters and whitecaps brewing
Inside,
The familiar muted static roar is pervasive
I crack the pane to take-in the Sea’s rumblings
On the horizon,
Thunderous powder kegs of salt spray vault off of exiled Sea rocks
Stern waves slam the steep granolith shoreline
The oft still inlet beneath me rendered defenseless
Reverberating up through the ancient foot-worn oak Ardeche floors
Penetrating the soles of my morning slippers
Earthly tremors of deafening decibels forge their way inside my chambers
Shaking’s of subtle seismic proportions born of liquid mass and motion unfolding
Enjoining my every extremity with its nasty vibe, its frenetic dissipation
Swaying frantically in the foreground
My seaward gaze is interrupted by gnarled horizontal Cypress boughs
Twisted disfigurement,
A byproduct of the Sea’s ceaseless toil
Rushing offshore,
The sturdy Santa Ana’s strip and birth a Spindrift from the tips of marching waves
The reverse dispersion bucking the forward-folding-kinetics of the surf
Airborne spoils accumulating into a sunken smothering bog-like fog
Perched and clinging to overhanging appendages
Hitchcock’s infamous gawking Crow’s
Ravenous wicked black birds braving the bitter stiff salt spray
The entirety of the scene draped in a diffuse macabre fitting of Poe’s allegories
And as the days gray becomes me,
Nature knows no pity
I am stricken
Transfused with an indulgent form of loneliness
A loathing self-reflection on life’s faded romance
The stormy sea reminiscent of a furious eighteenth-century Vernet
Broken and washed ashore
The paintings invisible hapless victim
My soul