Ft. Lauderdale

for individual islands, made maybe a custom :: this bright, 
sweeping shinysand, coruscant Redtide :: each escalator frenzy,
my delicate hands in an echo all mezzanine :: or the dove 
beneath fingernails, where every fingernail shreds :: desolate 
yardhour, crackling horizons, bastard murals of towers and 
towers of Laughter :: scratchmarks on the sidewalk :: blithe 
encounters of kelp dust :: saying things like “the islands bled 
stupid rubicon” or “tea plants are illegal to grow” :: magnolia 
shreds against magnolia blinds :: faces in mirrors and mirrors 
in cribs and cribs in slick Vertebrae still seahorse-soft with 
coral rum :: dank Hours, faces all drugcolor crusty, lawnmower 
noises cutting clear zenith :: on and on, bursting Towers and 
the tangle of islands called mountain, to be later called 
Sidewalk:: and my idea of breathing or calcium or kalesong or 
itchy late and later and then a language all laters :: or 
daughters in cribs making noises like doves :: or counting the 
hours until all these islands stiff down, crackling magnolia 
eyes into magnolia Chalk :: then a condo paid for with delicate 
abyss scraped careful from each coolsky :: reading careful the 
labels, “don’t operate machinery” or “use stairs if the flames 
continue” :: and there are mouths only dreamteeth with gums and 
tongues in a riddle :: vertebrae fall from the cabinets, fridge
 full of dull islands :: and all sorts of calligraphy of itching, 
new uses for breathing and laughing :: shorelines Crystal with 
hours white and re-whiting :: then careful the kalesong, then 
quiet the scratch hall, and signs slick with muscle, “keep close 
those your items” :: a love again long again, lost again, then 
falling into shores of magnolia breathing