The sail flutters and hulls rock

Casts of fishermen whistle their lit lures into the kissing lips of black

In the public lot, an RV encrusted in the style of a Mughal elephant

Who knew the egret could make such noise?

Intrusions without pattern, malsynchronous waves crashing together—

The acrid-sweet sip and the mellow strum of the Polynesian

Dead dog foaming and the girl too frantic to notice her nakedness

A photograph, the lingering scent of the photographer

The ocean smells of lovesickness at night

More and more, gulls gathering for baubles—

Helen’s cheeks: the ass of a woman draped across the bow of the Saudi’s yacht

Glass across the bay, at the appointed hour, imitates lighthouses

Shifting pitches as the Navy helicopters go from far to near to far

Circling around an anchored point

I submerge and am nulled by water—

And for a moment the senses are

Toys strewn about a child’s chest.



Joseph Byron Bennett

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