Soft Blabs
Speeding barfly across the shore.
Inhaling deep, self-portrait gulps.
The birds and bones atwitter. A
mocking sunrise interrupts. It
was there all along. Something,
anything, moves. Or keeps
drowning. But the point is.
The party coincides with
panic. Roils and quells.
And the roar of the fish on
the beach. But I am a goddam
bamboo, squawk-a-lot, and
think underneath thumbnails.
It’s a woodpecker’s lot. I got
the sense. It just froze at the
coffee store. The barque speeds
barfly across the. Surprise.
Sunset on Mt. Hula Hoop.
