Dusk nears. The murky sea licks off the beach,
Under the loner’s boots the shells are breaking.
The gulls sound desperate, old, voices quaking.
Drizzle; the lighthouse blinks; Who guards the reach?
A running man, his eyes deranged with hate.
The harbour crane, asleep, on one leg prancing.
Up in the sky the sign of ruin, dancing,
white and red disco flashes oscillate.
Along the promenade the lights are snaking.
From The Savoy resounds a blue clavier,
Spa guests come down to dine, their rooms forsaking.
Soaked by the rain a girl dreams on the pier.
The sea and sand, a couple, bared, love slaking.
Dusk nears. The last remaining days are here.
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