The great eroder of pop culture dialogue has itself begun to erode.
matching the impossible beat
like a rubber band
It is “Summertime Clothes.” You are turning
on sand – you are thirteen years old, very large
painful knees. You squint. Saltwater drips from your bangs.
Your friend is a child like you. You walk hot-
footed on the gritty bar between the road and the grass along
the side of the road. The other beach glimmers like the end
of a tunnel. A doe and fawn appear
blurrylegged in the road crossing. They twitch their tails, bend
their necks. You swat
a mosquito on your arm. Your friend falls behind
to take a picture with a disposable camera.
You go out late at night to look at the stars but it’s cloudy and your friend shivers under a sleeping bag.
Ten years later you take a ferry and lean out
over the rail over the blurry back of Leviathan.
Pretty much all I know about safety in the kitchen is:
use a big enough knife, use a sharp knife, and don’t burn yourself.
Never doubt the ability of art to change our lives for the better.