*
“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