“they have hung the sky with arrows”
you can shake your fist at any
foaming coast but her
break remains unscathed,
her scorn in
her calm in
wet snarls pacified in
depending on the time of month,
the climate or the
you are barefoot:
some pedestrian gesture of
avoiding the shells and
ghost crabs that litter the beach
you’re roaming again.
seeking to slice wrists with guilt
steal the scissors from his girlfriend’s
what’s it like to be a hypnotist?
take a seat.
notice your veins rock,
life’s a seething blade
and you wear yours deep in your lungs.
the ways you have learned to assuage
are more permanent in placement
if you face it and then you
you watched your hands become tributes
to decay so you ask your feet
to become your fingers
nothing from your mouth
watch your toes curl in the sand
before you start wading.
you are practicing the dying art of
you are seeking a quiet rest
you are seeking the sudden wreck
that laid you.