The moon doesn’t look like it spins
because we too are spinning
the river currents leave trace evidence
like footsteps: the wreckage left
by the collision of motion against motion.
Don’t ask me what I think. Ask yourself.
Or a squirrel. Or the wharf possum,
if you can find him. None of this this
will be here in a few currents. What
will take its place will be just as lovely,
just as confused and badly in need of a haircut
and just as dizzy from the moon.
Category Archives: summer
untitled series 4 (Summer 2022), number 6
August builds up a nice wet bake. We soothe ourselves
with the death of civilization and price-reduced saltines.
This generation is suffering its own demise in the manner it has lived.
Heavy rains shook debris loose and is sending it down river
where it all goes: saltines, debris, civilizations, generations
all headed south into a pink sunset sky
pocked with pregnant clouds.
After the rain
I find myself digging brazil nuts out of my trail mix,
atypically. Not even bitter like they can sometimes be
there ‘s just too damn many. It’s easy to eat around the coconut…
when I step on the wharf to get some fresh air and listen to the crickets
distracted I accidentally eat a brazil nut.
I should be kinder I tell myself
after denying the tourist use of the bathroom
I should be kinder
but this is not a kind city, not how they sell it
her spinning like a marionette next to the stage
but this wharf at 3 in the morning is for the lonely
and for fishermen, for the lonely that jump sometimes hoping
to turn into a fish — but they are dredged back on shore isolated
like discarded brazil nuts