Best Poem of F W Finney

Goose Rocks Beach
The towel of a stranger
lies dead on the beach
as the wind through the reeds
sings to the lovers sweating in the dunes

And by the row of sandy Camelots
we bury each other near the castle walls
and watch the actress bake
her fleshy cakes
and burn a page of Danielle Steel

Undress . . .
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House Lag
The guests have left
their fingerprints on the walls
of our now quiet house.

The chairs point in all directions
like messy hair.

They are in the air now-
probably somewhere over
the Bay of Bengal.

And here we are,
a couple again

picking up coasters and
dirty . . .
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