***

A solid afternoon.

White aqua crimson

prop. A dead sky, but –

full of starfruit

eyes

&

infinite salt.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 10

***

The current that makes the ocean
makes the marrow of my bones
makes my eyes slate with
anger blue with mystery
green with shock or inspiration
or confused with love
or dull silver with the sound
of voices of the choir
pushing against fluid
temples, pulling up
the liquid nails.
If I unlock
my sequined wrists
it is not a bargain
or a cry for help
it is just an end
like and unlike
many others
just a bag of bones
and ocean returning
to balance the tides.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 9

A Lens and no Curve

Paper cutouts against
a man's umbrella
fluorescent against the
musk of night
and dull to the heart.
Give me the ribbon
I have come for
and I will fish from
your eyes sentiment
and leave reason
to do its hard
job.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 8

***
A sunflower yellow and glimmering
whirling flamenco dancer
tongue on a lemon field with melted butter
cobblestone and childhood
creeping crawling from inside
the light.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 7

After Reading Tender Buttons

After all the rest of the chairs are established
and she has digested language like
sugar cane, I have so little left to
break, and throw against the wall --
and so I gather what I have left
with my ears and it plays --
a broken cadence
a vulgar waltz.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 6

***

And we don't dress up anymore
in tulle skirts with lavender bodices
but we still try to please
the maestro
and drip with tears
like sweat
for our unborn.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 5

One Lighthouse

One Lighthouse for the children's ward
One Lighthouse for the for the woman under the hospital
One Lighthouse for the helicopters, marines, doctors
One Lighthouse is all we need
for the cracked skull of the city
On the cloudless horizon

80 Poems in 80 Days: 4

Islamorada

The shores still have
spells of Katrina
speckled on carcasses
of homes built
of little more than
sunshine.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 3

***

Peace flows from the water
in twirling waves,
on the bank we hope
it is infectious.
I hope it takes
us all.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 2

Religion
Key West, Fl

On the Southernmost Docks
we worship the sunset,
hypnotized by our star
as if it were a newborn savior
paying for our deeds
day after day, hoping
it will never stop setting
and rising while we still
inhabit the horizon.

80 Poems in 80 Days: 1

Outside the war
we simmer in July
playing with sparks and pigment
fire and grease and heat
with aphrodisiacs
split lobster tails that lay
like hearts after a rapture,
with songs that press
against the hollow harbor womb
and die at sea, forgotten,
and silently, we note
the war
as outsiders do, and rub
against the night like
static on a tar balloon.