honeydunce

the left side.

cerebral coasts,
the ocean flirts
with the toes of my
hands gathering
temples into pinched
little tundras against
the crab grass drift
of lashes.
the mouth
no longer mouth,
now trouble.
the drunk without drink,
liquid sand belly sift.
i cannot possibly
find the beautiful thing
i want so badly,
little claws gnawing
the bark of skin
picked off in slats,
surfboards for the dolls
moss crowning
the pillow cement
(a rock forms,
a crescent)
in the moondip,
a thought:
please die to the left.

where a sun is trying to bust the lip
(light born)