|i belong in that blood pressure chair at Rite Aid|
not where the slag of a boat
leaves me hurried and afraid of starfish
who weigh more than the apricot tree i once had
it wouldn't reproduce on your hard soil.
there is nothing left but black fruit
rot in the gutter on a busy street;
not even the homeless will stick around
to ask for change– they found an ocean
and they splash like children skipping school
pausing for unique shells,
searching for a skittish crab to hide in the
sand dunes, for further conversation.
a boy who likes the age of nickels
teases a girl who is determined to swim
until the water is so cold, she snaps–
draws her own blood and makes herself forget
there are sharks.
the last will and testament is shoved
inside a skiff, trying to carve a hole
and find her– paper cannot dive
or breathe underwater,
but the ink knows how to swim...
so i bring a towel, you smoke seaweed
we both make fun of love.
the tide is ready to burst from your eyes;
show me an honest flood
and i will stand up
i will yank that line until it severs–
(comment on this poem)