To exhaust the delicate narcotic of our perforated resolve

 
Leaning into it
The ocean breeze makes a sound
like an albatross
hanging from the neck
of a harpsicord

The ocean is dark like the blood of fuchsias
If you’re in the right spot at the right time
the sunlight shimmers on the waves like
the face of an unknown god who
speaks only the language of gulls

Lights on the pier as the fog rolls in
At the mercy of accelerations
& the vicarious hips of parking lots near the sea

Beneath the camouflage palms
My eyes like pins
stuck into a pair of voodoo RayBans