His heart: raw coastline. Sharp edges, reef, volcanic rock.
His head: hot. Fearful of the ocean, whose touch renders hurt inert.
He clings to the prospect of an imminent death, desiccated fingers in a vice grip round the mouth of a 33-gallon cinch sack. In this, he deposits bottles of discarded plastic waste. Rubber oars squelch, then slap at the sidewalk like sea-foam. In search of salvation, he treads pavement like he treads water.
The ocean, unsubtle goddess, collects without cause or care. The unwashed, unclaimed, unrepentant.
Defiant, he collects.
His collection: a buoy, a raft, a pyre.
She comes tonight.
Wonderfully poetic prose.
Love your prose. It has such a TEXTURE!
I love the bit about the unsubtle goddess collects without cause or care.