(from the moon series)
sweats, an ugly shiny sweat all over
a towel of lilies,
all over rough rocky sand
and the sweat makes a river
for sand ants to float down
chunks of fake crab and cherry pits
and the moon, nude,
turns over, turns red, puts on SPF 15
and can't reach the lower back.
It's just that the waters cold
when you go in and the ice cream
is too far away and it's a good thing
it's June 3rd, Corpus Cristi.
And the moon over ten thousand people
at the beach taking sun wonders,
wonders why they all aren't moon bathing,
wonders why moon tan isn't in style,
wonders where moon burn would take
one poor child, sand castled and topless,
hunting shapes in pales and fantastic scenarios
between kings and queens and shells
once breathing under the dying ocean.
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Mad Moon Over Mehringdamm
It was the whisper behind your words, after being scared shitless by the description of the eight of cups, that triggered the vanishing of o...
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of standing in a room full of people listening to my friend of twenty three years introduce me. He talks of ping pong and sail bo...
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it was hungry, i could tell the yellow bicycle i was ten, it was hungry it was raining, i heard the window told me i could tell, that old fe...
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(from the moon series) The last stop before sleep. The idle lights and cold marble ground. The conveyor belts of the soul. Someone ha...
This poem reminds me of why I hate the beach.
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