for some reason sitting in this morning’s sun reminded me of the Jersey Shore my skin felt the same crackle of heat that came when laying on a towel, listening to waves, the cackle of children I remember the water was cold, though I went in with my brothers to avoid humiliation, dug up and smashed clams, throwing the sticky flesh to seagulls in mid-swoop, puzzled how they had mastered the art of the catch I remember little else of that me, though recalling it was a st

much like photographers, poets capture the world through different lenses, hole up in a dark room and carefully develop the image on paper when I put the hardware down for a day or two, I worry that I might become addicted to simply living and stop imprisoning its moments, then remember the popularity of zoos that imprison rare and exotic animals for study, that thrill children and educate the world Would poetry and I be happier with a different relationship - crossing

today should be the last day in the 70’s for quite awhile those two crows are so close to finding the roadrunner’s nest as she dives at them with her beak that woman in anti-disease wear, covered head-to-toe and a mask, could miss the oncoming car while crossing the road oh, and the guy I saw reading today as he’s walking – the bloody knee and the sprawled book I picture so clearly in my mind or none of those things will happen you and I should know by now to never be