seedcastle sandcastle 

granary and waste 

no ceremony neared near enough 

no grace lost nor faced

like a dying feline’s lying feeling

unbecoming finally became him 

his elegy her snuff film 

she could not afford the frame 

she had not bought a cadre 

and good plots cost 

small livings made 

too weak to be a pilgrim 

she played a long video 

the boatswain did a handstand 

laymen everywhere hung themselves 

and he the unthinkable citizen 

of the unnameable place 

the beach the germ 

the grain the egg 

so seethes the world’s cannibal feast 

seedslum sandslum 

tumbleweed and Dover 

salt-stains sandbanks 

the garden, and then the Ace.

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Chloe Sproule is a writer from Ottawa living in Montreal. She is the Co-Managing Editor of Scrivener Creative Review and has published poems in Expat Press, Ahoy, and The Imagist, among others.