House on the Hill

And we will dwell in the house on the hill.
Poised, malevolent, the drummer boy
beckons his throbbing voice. Water
crushes shells to sand, a frothy

soup crimsoned with victory.
Buoyed bodies bounce off boulders,
the ocean's indifferent shrug.

Life drains into life: recycled aluminum cans
repurposed too many times, rusted
and flimsy. We'll build our final city
on misused temples - vexed remains.

And we will all dwell in the house
on the hill. The hill that
is not a hill,
but an engorged grave.