Wreckers

The scheme is simple. Shipwreck. In the interest and profane imperative of painted lights along the coast the shadow of a lantern in the shadow of a parapet. Charged silhouettes and sirens. All hands. Clustering furious bodies wrench their forms back in the Man-o’-War wrack of rigging. Willful beckoning their tense and pitch in the wave break they strain their bodies strain in the tidal spume heaped the sun like Parliament burning. Blood and salt. The shearwater tear of fingernails cleaves a distant craning mast. Their bodies strain. The big Other of tangled cords and sails unweaving the spirit unmastered by man reveals a savage puzzle of water and light. A moral born of salvage.