October 28th 2021
You can learn a lot about yourself
by your relationship to rain, what
you use to interrupt it. Palm, tongue,
or jerrycan. Crown, rib, or eyeball.
Strychnine local waters lapping loosely
in the font begins the beachside funeral.
Over by the buffet, forcing meat
between my teeth, I bump into a guy
who says, as rain tattoos the sand, buddy,
you’ve gotta forget what death does to a face –
mouth folding like a shattering zeppelin,
eyes like an oval of sky fizzed with flame
then greyer than fog in front of rotten temples –
if you wanna continue to look at the living.