(no subject)

If I push past the skin
until it gummydrop pops
it will silence
the head and
heart line turns
a tale untold as promised

familiar limbs fall from trunks
of devotion;
I gather them up
to
leave them be
like oilspots in gutters,
pretty to look at
but black on my thumb.

I ride Hokusai's wave
until it evens the shore
to something soft and malleable;
a new foot
presses
shallows under gulls
bubbled with new days.