What comes of rolling spume

I opened the door and
found two summers waiting for me

I opened the door and found
a shortcut, through blood,
to your vice

I opened the door and found
wingless angels
on the lawn

I opened the door and
found butterflies
flailing in hot tea

I walked outside and
mapped the flood plains
of Mexico

I walked outside
flanked by
sparrows and skunks

I drove to the
illumination of history
dancing

I drove to the oaks
of barbarism and lies

I drove over bridges
laced with snakes

I parked near
hints of reality

I parked near
a litany of losses

I walked to
plastic saints

I walked to
stony memories

I fell in
love with Beethoven

I fell in
bed with ferns

What comes of
whole creation

What comes of
lightning clouds

What comes of
wind on beaches

What comes of
rolling spume

Somewhere
the Cormorant
eats

Somewhere
the Pelican
sleeps

Somewhere
the driftwood
cries

Somewhere
the illusion
dies

Dear god
let’s not break
into rhyme

Dear god
I really
mean it this time

Oh fuck
now I’m
locked in

jesus
release me
from this sin

river
electric
Gideons

Muir Beach
Hollywood
Bejing

ah, there it is
spring in your brother’s
thaw

You did it didn’t you?
voting
Asian American

You did it, didn’t you?
tasting
colored lips

You did it, didn’t you?
fondling
Seattle’s shoreline

I went home
to a second heart

I went home
to a ball of lead

I went home
to horse the moment

I went home
no, I’m not going
there.

waves of desire sang
birds tableau
lodestar lodestar lodestar

bus drivers of Tacoma
let go of their brakes
and blue eyed breasts
sank below their volleyballs

We’ve tested the wind
it’s substantial

We’ve tested the tongue
it’s indicative

We’ve tested the romaine
it’s shitty

We’ve tested the night
it’s wily
and I don’t mean Dobbs

Does anyone
have any Mozart?

Does anyone
have any shame?

Does anyone
give an impeachment?

Say what you want
Pelosi’s got game

“She’ll cut your head off and you won’t even know you’re bleeding.”

I filled the pot
with fiddlehead ferns

there was a build up
of weather on my brows

she walked through the
door unlocked
bringing with her
my night thoughts
and prayers and maps
of Roman back roads

It’s an odd person
who convicts the breath
with shadow
who sees death’s
landscape unsecreted
and can’t muster a tear

she’s water

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