Where You Been

                  for Pamela, again & again

Some day we’ll count our blessings
that is
when we have any
we’ll count them
in the water-barrage of born again tin-types
or midnight raffle chicken countdowns

Strange shoes for a sandy day
& a handlettered telescope
doesn’t say much beyond the oblivious

The octopus has three hearts that
leak out through its manifold
& set fire to the seaweed

I’ve seen it but I don’t want to talk about it

In the bump & grind of the shorebreak
we’re all food for other fish