Eight Lines at the Beach

The crustaceous arachnids crudely crawling
A slow scamper sideways across the rocks,
The beer-laden duo covered in sandy tattoos
With their illusory masculinity poorly mooring
Weak wills and weird fears,
The tide rises over the bobbing bodies
Of an anxious cluster necessitated by the raging waves,
And the naked girls’ blind butts outshine the seashells.