oil:

July 28, 2011 § Leave a comment

a conch that smells of sea
laugh and say it’s the hymen of the ocean
throw it back to me
our sister is laughing
her arms are swollen

oh to always be in the fresh old town
as brown as earth and fat as dough
pig latin rolling into attempted italian

here’s a phrase:
and only one.

it speaks by me
fly back baby, with the wind behind you
it’s the only way to keep your cool in a jar
the sort, a higher plain
a grassy part of citta alta. boys stream

our sister isn’t sane
the words on their shirts go on, and on
the trees weave shelter. lambrettas shower the wall with dust

cedar, seasalt
ruin

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