Anchored to a sickle, evergreen seacrops harvest sheaves
In the cradle of beach, birthing and ghosting footprints, washable ink
Dream of true nu sand unspotted by phantom gulls unraided by pirate crabs whereonly clawing
weed and biting wind hold body down to lusty tide
A pendant in the clasp of extremes
Moonstone hanging on a thread
Blazing like a poet

The poet knows she is mere
reflection
Stays with the metaphor
Some respectful distance from the sun

The cellist becomes a medium, opens
her body her house to the ghostmasters
who show up in the audience

They see themselves in her lake vinegar, allow
the gain in taste
the seeping through
the cool gauze foreign accent

Sleeping is like fishing for myself

The old customary shoe will come along
Mermaids I didn’t see myself eye
A shark scare

Then
Kneejerk
Stutter
Piercingvision

I let the air-line flow
Give myself some slack for a slow graze in the deep
Drooling all over the pin, bloodshot
Then reel it in

She dates the beauties but keeps her vigilance
Her writing feeds on abstinence
Sometimes when she is erect uncomfortable she will go so far as to ask herself out to an
entrechat
Balancing in air crossing leg swords her pronounced lips fellate her own tongue