WHAT TO NAME THIS
Chronic things like pleasure
and fog came up fugitive around me.
was it so different?
Chevron, Indian River Medicine, Murdockís, Stop—
we stole many signs
and flower baskets and orange cones and the Dairy Queen graphic.
We should have known better than to laugh.
We owned our gravity
and the chance to cry openly around a guitar. Or was it
like mistaking the sound of wind
for waves at high altitudes. Iím not sure.
The lake today is clear to the bottom.
Giant carp race under the boat
like memories of carp.
fiction poetry "fact" photography