Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Channel Islands Part 2: Tuquan

I'm sinking into the sediment of my 
beauty state,

its loomeries of secret birds, scraping
shallows, rip tide only as warm 

as the blood of sharks
swarming. 


Tenderness can be the wildest instinct 
of all:


tenderness and I am
swimming the body of water

and I am content that the water 
should taste like water

and I am content that I tear
flesh from the bone with my bone 
teeth, 

and I am content to wash my body 
with the orange 

stone of soap 

that smells of orange and 
of obscuring steam. 


You are literally a Bishop Pine:

you there, 
angled toward the caliche forest,

feet dug into quartz soil, 
bristly baby 

fed lovingly by the beauty state.

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