Shutterspeed.

[FreeBird1969]

There's rust on the shutters
And they won't open.
And all my doors are locked
So how am I supposed to know
What color the sun is?
Or how high the clouds go?
Or which tiki bar God frequents?
Lights twinkle on the docks
And I look out at them from slits
in the wall..
Lovers passing by
fingers entwined with seaweed
Sand between their lips
Smarting eyes all salty and begging.
I have no qualms with those who fight fires.
But those who chop wood
to feed their own hissing flames
Miami vices and sandbars at the shoreline
Frying up turtle eggs
Because they think their skin looks
darker soaked in grease
It's in their eyes the way they
think it quaint
That artists live on sailboats
and go fishing shirtless, ribs poking at
hungry organs, hooks poking at hungry blues.
I want to see them scrounge in the garbagecans
See them smear themselves on the pavement
for the money that goes
towards tearing down memories.
Houses are too close together
in the summertime.
We put up a sunny veil that comes down
when the leaves fall.
I like it better then, when you can ride a truck down
the beach.
I like it better when you can hear
the waves crashing against your solitary feet.

[TrippinBTM]

Good god woman, this is truly a work of art! I loved the description of the lovers; and the "rant" about those who chop wood and eat turtle eggs and what you'd like them to do... powerful images there, your descriptive abilities are top notch.

[FreeBird1969]

Well. :D Thanks, man. :)