dying fresh

in sunlight

senseless Flora
brushes the claustral lip
the hands and mouth region of this glamorous divorcée
bears less of this, and much more of that  
a strange amalgamation of birthing hips and failing arms
the babies inside her womb
like tanks in warfare
rolling over her grave
in search of the miraculous
how birds are even
curvature of beached whale bending to their every wish
in darkness, emerges the fact that she is moth

unwanted beach

ask them not me
if we’re considered to be good hosts
why eye contact with oneself is so boring
and when almost always our disorienting portraits
are carried through the cyclical lulls between marsupial blossoms
REM sleep is stuck in a permanent rocket launch
and jellyfish stay viciously aware of the sun’s destruction
what of all the love we find and keep
pieces forming shapes that only match from one perspective
and why are some things kept from our vision
blowing only to frighten just enough
a so-called solid object blinking, cringing, weak and weeping
asking courage or promise of a safe return

more beaches

my mother and her younger bodies

and her steel deer antlers
and the terrible growing things she holds together 
that don't belong together
and those lovely spaces between them

my mother and her young
and the familiar sounds they make as their bodies move
and their too-solid flesh that freezes thaws 
and resolves itself into a beach of bloodied up teeth 

my mother and her young 
sadly desperately
star gazing 

waiting for an ocean to drop