Steering the whale.

driving through town

in a car with sunglasses, like steering a whale

between reefs. earth laid out;

all open, bare, all invitation. the sun

drying rocks

and passing girls

in french summer dresses – sweet as growing

fruit. the radio goes – talk or music, either way

it’s movement, and you

are movement too, taking corners

like god himself

would spin. driving with sunglasses, music

and your shirt unbuttoned for summer; a spike out of water

made of more water,

sinking the sky like your car is a cock

and the ocean

is fucking the horizon.


A feeling.


picked from the vine

and squeezed like fingers,


in good weather.

and we are both

radios now;

flipped out the window

at a sign

of bad news.

and the sky rots

and drops us like salt.


is burning;

a 3 legged dog

rotting by the shopfront

while someone inside

fetches milk.


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