Yes, I have the sadness,
‘side my flavorless tea & headache cheese crackers;
but it’s not the sadness I had before,
& that’s what most matters.
That was left on the gray beaches o’ summer chills,
wandering & pretending I was knowing & did science,
when nobody invited me to be taught to grow gills.
I’m still waiting for die Tagssonne
to stretch my seed’s boughs.
& this time the point won’t miss its rows.
Just look @ where the sluggish storms sleep now:
when life gifts you oranges,
Mike’s soft bottles don’t e’en crack skulls beyond sore fringes.
Leave me in stitches—p l e a s e.
but I saw
you, flesh-shelled crab… Please.