Artificial suns,
they won’t take away
hands clambering
against chills brought
by reinforcement
without rules,
also a poet goes down.
Not here for her…
So we are tides
against Fire Island,
restless and changing easily,
born in pain–
I feel it everywhere, now,
missing a good scene of red,
don’t squirm–
get it over rapids
slicing through a face
in the cracks of mountain-
sides, breaking glass
using tools to understand
methodology,
no biological possibility,
I can’t feel anything, it’s fine…
Go after the ones closet to him,
constant tinge of trying
to bring his blue
eyes out of the green river.
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