If it’s in vain
If it’s to wrap myself up
In silky space robes and raise my fat little fists
If it’s pissing in bushes
Or watering sprigs stuffed in boxer briefs
If it’s lying between cacti
And dreaming of drinking the bubbles
Out of ancient fountains
If it’s to surrender to last kisses
To mature endings
To joints in skinny jeans//grape rolling paper & size 2’s
To air that smells like rot and
Scuffed sunshine and
Tar so fresh your handprint could
Reach
right
through
If it’s to guzzle ash and be sated by petrol
Is it true, Frost,
That nothing gold can stay?
Like the chug of faucet
Like the breaking of bread
Like the deconstruction
As presupposition of sand
castle
Horseshoe crabs have antiquated and blue
Dinosaur sex
Next to adulterous kings and betrothed queens and
The quiet lap of ruthless crests
I watch them, sometimes
A sick voyeur, a twisted pervert
Sometimes bird shit smattered on windshields
Looks like horseshoe crabs
Stretched and teased and sophisticated
Spiny tails and jagged shells
Carved by the run of berry and seed
I won’t turn on my wipers yet, so
Enjoy your collisions and ephemerality
And I will play god
If it’s to be so observant–to watch and loathe–
Only occasionally merciful
