“The Gods only die by being among us.”

Striated and turgid, the deciduous dawn slickening the shore

Waves on the right, waves on left: kelp bath’s someone’s meal

`s not mine. My winged

intoxicated April with her red painted

fingernails filed by wind, poking through the hills,

surrounded Miriam’s suddenly sulky adolescence, her

heavy-lidded disdain in its flat-footed gallop toward the sow

There’s a mission here I’d like to see, rising above the recovering

hosed-down biker-friendly boardwalk, but I’m mopping up

the overflow with a rag

and Tim’s shadow’s growing in, transmigration

rummaging within his gonadal glance

A Brit, a Frenchman, and a Russian

A Pole, a Spaniard, and a Scott



Excerpt from Think Tank