We fell from Heaven
And struck every branch
On the way down.
The impact left a crater,
Half the diameter of a New England town.
With no direction I dream
Of rambling on.
Lucidly waking, scrambling for
Planes, trains, or bus.
Filling my hiking bag, hand encompassing a compass.
It’s ill education
It’s the pursuit of satisfaction
Comparing cash value
To the subjective flow of time.
Take a chance and
Roll the bones.
Don’t let it build
Until it bursts.
Mow the lawn,
Water the garden,
Get your hair cut,
Sip Lillet Blanc from a chilled cup.
Allow alcohol to touch your lips,
Don’t let it be the reason they move.
As honest as possible
Writing, thinking, and ignoring
Proper grammar marks
Package the whole process
Within paper and metaphor.
Old Orchard Beach
Is closed for the season
The Arcade, The Fryers, and
The Booze Monsoons hang in there
Digging up that last buried dollar
Printing that last redeemable prize ticket
Stay off the boardwalk
Stay in for dinner
We are long passed the crowds
Craving summer carnival narcotics
We walk the beach
Watching the tide
Juxtaposing our memories
Passed, piled into grains of sand
There’s no shortage of sand
My Brothers are scattered
Through age and Beach Pea
Throwing a football, spinning fire poi
Red Sox Jacket flapping in the rippling wind
The wind burn feels like a subtle sun burn
The cold sea air like a cool beverage
The salt in my cells
Osmose into a different thirst
Family and ocean scenery
