This shore has rhythm
A fractal beat on surf and sand
A wave, a wave
The ding ding
The hum
The hiss and smoke from Manhattan's mouth is loud but young
It will pass
Shore is forever
A wave, a wave

A wave in wet paint on metal
Wet orange reflections
Captured light forever
Wet paint is like brick in this city
The sky is made of air
The doors are made of wood
And the heads are made of paint

East river water is made of paint
It's wet and every night the light
From it's twin in concrete waves
Waves, shows it colour and contour and form
And lets it play, a thick sodium slug
That sticks to the sides

This land has deep vibrations
Anger and strong footsteps, rumblings
And penetration and this
Shore-to-shore shake that keeps it
Up. Wet, dry, hot, cold, down,
It's a furious nightlight

Ding, awash in a river
Going east to an island and floating
Easily on the wind like a gull
Ding, going east to the ocean and
A gulp, a wash, a river of spit
And an ocean shouting flotsam

Paint this city black. Paint this city black
Shot amongst this hum, this hiss
And Manhattan's smoke and mouth your words
So every silent phoneme is a subway tunnel
Ding, a wash, a gulp, an ocean, a river
Ding, strong penetrations, footsteps, vibrations

Ding, thick colour, concete, night and paint
Ding, the heads, the doors, the sky is wet
The city sleeps beneath a pillowed sky
And suffocated hum and hiss and smoke
Can not disturb a wave.
A wave.
This city sleeps surrounded by the shore.

-This Shore, Tom Milsom.

This is my all time favourite poem...ever. <3
Blade.