I KNOW THIS MUCH AT LEAST
From the single point of distance
we are half dark half salt half boat
and a line of matches striking sea,
and bone, to shore.
You bullshit hymn. You stupid rat.
You ugly river beach, why the hell
are we out here again? What with
all this bringing me into the cooler
mist of you, I canít remember how
the cityís meant to look against the
white of its Queen Mary, how I used
to see the sopping wedding dress of
it and sitting here right now, whether
flesh or memory, I can promise I wonít
ever know the lace like that again.
Iíll only know the donuts that you brought
to bring the edge down off the end of us,
like coconut has ever had a say in what
makes up a good goodbye. You know, we
mightíve just stayed quiet. Let the sulfur run
itself to sleep, you stupid bruise. You spoiled
fiction poetry "fact" photography