the nights are getting warmer
and that kiss of 2am dew
will feel less sloppy less frenetic
less like that fumbling teenage lip lock
in the church basement
the river is calm for now
yet the ducks still explore the wharf
dry as it is, expecting to swim
there are no girls with auburn hair
here to sing me into the water
and into the imagining
that I am not a duck
searching midnight basements
for the first hint of dew
Category Archives: work
untitled series 3 (Spring 2022)
watching the tug boats dig in
fight the current upriver
it brings to mind tires
spinning in mud
and here I am
without kitty litter
tide tinker tune boz
warm nights and steady water
the wharf busy with post-colonial romances
tourists drunk on bourbonism
some stop at the sign listing all the famous folks
who landed here: presidents no one remembers
writers no one reads. warm nights
as barges hug the shipping lane
plucking the mooring lines
the river is a giant erhu
lines act as strings this song
a sad and beautiful one
a serenade sounding all the way
to Santa Monica Pier all the way
sung beyond hearing
in strong counter currents
rolling towards bloody Cairo