hammered out;
pings and clangs, deflating form and
memory, leaving
withered, cracked
quenched and wracked
pushed to cartage destined for greener pastures
the place hitchikers come from
cutting deeper switchbacks
lost along the way, arriving here
to bellow and forge the truth

'ship it back -- ' tearlids salty and true, 
a biting brine of ground molars;
a sleeplessness 
'for god's sake, ship it back!'
don't let them come here.

yet still, they storm the beaches.
fresh refugees
new flesh to be seared
in the temp'rance of our labors
folding dreams a thousand times
into pitiful gems
threshed from their deathbeds
and sold on wedding rings.

yet still, they storm the beaches
yet still, they buy the rings.