Monday, August 13, 2007


I told her, she never ever hears between the saltwater and the blacklights.
Fuck is the only religion she clings to and in the tight spots,
the ugly light wimpers, haired fingers ginger-up snappy collar and calls off the sun.
Quit shitting in my lap!
Quit telling Dad I can's swim!
Sometimes if I squint tight enough, I can swim up falls and down canals.
Every time hope it takes me to the ocean,
mostly it fondles the folds and peaks.
This is the worst fucking sandcastle I have ever seen.
I want this place to split and open up to the ocean.
With my hands towards the sun, I split the mountains
and hail the retainer-clad to the promised land.

A weighty metal clenched her to a sand flat.
I didn't point for fear of fever (her karma's sort of crooked)
but opened a salt pocket for a sinkhole.
Don't fuck up the siding, Laney!
Stop with the peek through the curtain!
Dad's gonna be so mad when you hit the ocean and I'm gonna laugh
like a heartache in a sandstorm, eyes wide for pitting,
holding the round middle of me until I spread out on the concrete.
I'm not like you, Laney. I don't pray to general touching.
I prefer the backs of my eyes to wrinkle.

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