Man of Iron, Standing...
Blind to the bland, grey waters...
An inattentive, unemotional
Clinging weed flapping at lichen,
Like the torn wrappings
On the excavated, ancient, mummified elite.
It awaits a slurping tide to rise
And slash at it with venom
Then engulf its glum form,
Anchored by rusting, leprous feet...
Discontented on the distressed, dark, flat mud...
A moronic, horrific
The Antony Gormley parade of iron figures on and around Great Crosby's beach.
Quite liked them...