June 22, 2017 · poetry


Lost, lost in a salt salt sea,
whaling those gender-flips meant for me,
take it on down as fast as you can,
calamity jane, calamity man.
Brush your lingering sensual pyre,
bite a narrow narrow nose
all gently down the eyelets
taking in those quarter-rhymes.
Where we drank and sang, tattled and hung
our grimace out to dry,
you packed yours solid in a bag
and we were left behind.

From behind we schemed anew
bantering in the streets
to find a father just like you,
under luminous glass.
Remember what you said, you fool?
what you spewed while your brains seethed?
You couldn't find your own way down
so you fled the whole way 'round.
Left us high and dry on some deserted isle.
Gulls squawked and storms raged,
but we whittled out our days
leavened with spirit and flame.

Good Lord, where do you point now,
where do you look that we might follow?
Stringing up my feet, I see
only a thin thread of jealousy.
Took a nap and
relegated the rest to drowning.
That's right, you open connoisseur:
not much left, a
pinnacle of heat
caught scarlet-edged out on the beach,
mouth wide
from whispering someone else's name.

Burning Tree in Time Lapse Photo from pexels.com

I am an inferno.
I'll cinder you to ashes,
drag my whole screaming life out into the air
and plunge like a spent star

alone, cold, down into
the first or second wave.

Hold me, gently,
or I'll rake you up with fire.

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