Poem for Beachheads & Briars


Awoken by the immaculate flaw
in my bed. Quietude, hollowed

limbs through which the breeze
still moves. Despite molecules

I’ve come to intuit wavelengths,
how Made in America illustrates

that most blown, charitable days
revolve this walk swept of sand.

Smashed & believing whichever
whim as promise, routed clouds,

scenes becoming then breached.
How I wish to bear the purpose

of men carrying a ladder. Maybe
they rescue the wayfared kitten

or cart the rungs for the woods,
heaved & fetched until each stays.

Sculptures of Virginia Woolf

They're sentences in waiting, diagrams
drained. Tuesday raises her hand & asks

directions to the bathroom. She misses
cigarettes, lessons how kissing the boy

she drags into the Sadie Hawkins dance
keeps her homeliest gal in all them hills.

Tuesdays fenced in, clad like tea cozies
as though for a parade. A crossing guard

& spinster, spent tissues saved & saying
how I'm with stupid is a saying for life.

Sundown thereafter kicking & kicking.
Boys waving from the backseat of a car.