Opening on the watershed where
construction cranes bequeath holes
to landscapes like prehistoric esthetic
enforcement officers, a single celled
insect consumes the poisons of a million
abusive mother in laws. Other miscues
assemble at a beach head made of laundry
to discuss the reprehensibility of taking shape,
of becoming skeletal and therefore demeaning
to the spirit of formless shame. “We creep
upon them,” a jetty of sound escaping lips
“If they obey one another.” Everything that
ever wore a bikini dissolves into air. Only
discarded hubcaps are left to circle endlessly.
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