the waves break in triplicate

i. try a little dumbness

a flipper with a creaky wheelbarrow
can, seasick, carry so little else:
even numbers hoist a tragic burden
of twos and fours and sixes-
an orange drum of oozing crude
squats in the scarlet square of public proof:
normal schooling has not broached the riddle of three-
perfect odds for the splashing pod of scalene glee:

this is the first wave, barely asking questions,
feckless breakers born of slim perception.

ii. then came the silly thumping

a hairless mammal born of aqua water
smooches to a lonely warehouse groove
propped on stilts of rust and gray,
scratching a riff devoid of moisture,
in a turn-table suit striped with pockets-
fine this crime that outlives the sea:

this is the second wave, rhythm rising,
a changeling child of chilly waters.

iii. trump is the beginning of cool

a vest of stuffed squid and shrimp is stylish
for most of the downstream fossils:
these slick boardwalks in the fresh of splintered rain
where triple cool are collar pops in lemon pink
for the eternal culture of grope and move:
it's never too slim for a flippered slipping-
to grind this sand to a fine-toothed beach:

this is the third wave, darkling by nature,
a cunning crash of foam and spray.