Saturday, July 12, 2025

On the last day

It swells and crashes
goes from hot heavy-pregnant wet
to cold, whipping, white peaks and things
equal to rise
lower to drop
and I keep drinking seawater
I keep sticking out my tongue and licking it
off my hands and arms
a salt-lick would they put iodine in my skin
and the girl on the beach watching my bags
looks just like me
if I sat on a sun-rock
dipping popcorn into dried salt
in the little empty tide pools 
and the fish wriggled
and the sand grit between my teeth

Queering the Map in Gaza



Red-tailed hawk

Push your face into mine like a nesting bird  summer two baby raccoons on the side of the road asleep in the morning, split open by noon as ...