Poem: Gulp

 

Gulp

 

moon like a pill

on the roof of my mouth,

the ocean all rummy and

somehow this gulp is tragic.

but i’m inside a car,

or some rolling cube,

and my empathy for those confined

runs stark as we

circle towers on parallel lines

which in turn lead to squares.

 

not so far away,

over the ocean under the molly,

 

gulls whoop frissons into my ears

but that isn’t the party,

never has been or will be, 

no invitation even possible.

i exist to glaze in a car bar,

not a sandbar.

the gulls have their whirls

and loves and cocky calls and

i am a strand in the net

which shadows them.

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