# Tides for Sale
**by Violet Treadwell Hull**

Static time
Big old stupid city

On the embankment of rug and tassel

What could lap
At a shore this old

But pruned and petted candies

Strings of sponge
From tops of heads

A boat rocks aside: a hand meets charge: a tide shifts: a mountain learns a new name

Water doesn't need to set aside time
To say yes

It laps it over and over again with nothing to count

An ancient time can now be pixels
But don’t forget to bring your enchanted gloves

The water hurts but it must be bottled

In line for sparks
Outline the scores

Found that shape was mine

Come down on down
Pale comparison

A faceless man attempts the biggest grab at the moon

A little of its wobbly oil to be the perfect mirror
And a fortune to be made if the right buyer ever wanted some reflection

Now what will light the way for night shifts and rendezvous

Buy the batteries from that same monstress man
To find a place and a time for toying with myself again

Hoping to fit into an angle that machines don’t yet know how to navigate