love, and other natural disasters

acres of barely concealed tragedy
are sprawled along the vacant beach,
spreadeagled like a group of starfish or
a colony of dead Vitruvian men.


hair becomes whip-like in wind
as shorelines burst onto squeals of water,
each one a hideous screech
from gaping jaws, a cry that echoes
for hours while stars tick-tock overhead.

i could swallow entire mouthfuls
of the pale sun, feel them explode
like lightning strokes in my aching belly
and still think like a deserted seashore -
the only signs of life
ruffled seagulls picking at dry oyster shells.


the earth is a sphere and the coast
is a box of empty prayers
held together by a couple loose ends
of fishing wire
sharp enough to slit throats.