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.