Your mud. Here,
we count days.
We walked Santa Monica
to the ocean. There, we removed
our shoes. Held them
by spines to dip
our feet. I love where
we have been. The more we walk,
the less we know. Either way it ends
yet the water takes
and takes, and by the door
we wait.
(originally published in Northampton Poetry Review, Summer 2017)
because I repeatedly disregard that which is shaped like a diamond
to be a diamond,
I will flirt with the skateboard girl
who zooms away
& lament our love, lost
as yesterday’s blackened ganja.
living on the beach,
scraping sand
for a seagull’s Dorito–
we are crevices in the Santa Monica boardwalk.
we slip out from ourselves
without knowing
yet know ourselves sunken
deep in the tar ocean
& yet, somewhere, still there
from many years of being the ones
who collect what others discard,
making space in our own diamond-shaped boxes
(originally published in Eunoia Review, February 2016)