What Happened in Gloucester
First, I see the gulls...

I'm thinking
of stars that shine...

I blink.
Iridescence coats my inner eyelid...

Come, let's be dignitaries of Spring.
Let's toss innumerable red bottles...

A spore contorted
on the floor, the porous...

He picks a stone to skip
across the water's silver sheen...

Forms are hard, I don't like trying to
*usher my words into something straight, I like...

Poop is smelly, sultry, deep
and full of secrets richly steeped...

It starts at evening, the silent weave of scent
billowing through the door, seeping in the carpet...

Seagull takes the wind:
an elegant, arcing lilt...

Let's go back to the rocks again,
where the wind is thick and the foam is slick...

I like trees with lots of leaves,
And dogs that sniff and bark at things...