From the single point of distance

we are half dark half salt half boat

and a line of matches striking sea,

and bone, to shore.

You bullshit hymn. You stupid rat.

You ugly river beach, why the hell

are we out here again? What with

all this bringing me into the cooler

mist of you, I can’t remember how

the city’s meant to look against the

white of its Queen Mary, how I used

to see the sopping wedding dress of

it and sitting here right now, whether

flesh or memory, I can promise I won’t

ever know the lace like that again.

I’ll only know the donuts that you brought

to bring the edge down off the end of us,

like coconut has ever had a say in what

makes up a good goodbye. You know, we

might’ve just stayed quiet. Let the sulfur run

itself to sleep, you stupid bruise. You spoiled

rotten scrape.