The teenagers of the bayou look down to their pocket God, summoning validation through divine vibrations;
heads bowed they pray for the prey, for the sensations of meaning, refreshed each second,
filed and cast aside,
except on thursdays, or maybe fridays ‒
for these are the sacred days reserved for nostalgia, for last weekend’s cigarette taste,
for those cheap-gin glances, lacerated by and filtered through the teeth of crocodile tears,
for the lovesick night sweats and the mouth of another, for the break from chronic ennui,
all captured in thirty-three unearthly flashes;
The teenagers of the bayou look up from their pocket God and stretch their aching fingers upwards,
exhausted, habituated, unquestioning
of the heaviness of such emptiness
within
their starving hearts

Another cigarette in bed,
another sleepless night.
The cats have prowled,
the mice are dead,
and still I dread the light.

No breeze stirs
so the heat endures
in this town
where loneliness found
a home in me

What I know
is not so
in this town
where love has bound
me to be

She turns her head from it;
I turn my back to it;
It faces them in their deflection, they who are ruled by planetary alignment, they who spill rogue waves from calm mouths, just as the lace crashes and pools around bare legs and lips -
Any enigma free from transcription lies within the chasm, who sleeps buried deeply between two bodies, too deeply, it has been said, though perhaps for the best, as the truths who precede intent rest there as well.
We, the sea, urge in ad hominem, convinced of indelibility, consistent in breakage and dispersment of that which is built from and upon determined chaos.
Her, I, the sea.
Our madness.
I turn towards it; she turns to face it;
The sea has drawn it's long breath
We reach for the exhale with open palms, never closed, for the retreat is inevitable.

Even in the darkness, the white teeth of the hill continue to smile
Ivy crawls up a pale house, wrapping around the words repeated with purpose, captured, then abandoned
Men who died a thousand different deaths flit between the lights of a cerulean pool,
Their lovers and wives and mistresses arrange themselves on iron deck chairs, one leg bent, lips curled up at some sweet secret-
How lovely they are behind cat-eyed glasses, calling out for their darlings with a velveteen song.

It is good to live here, in the eternal summer of one's heart, where moments are dispersed pre-wrapped in the golden threads of a beloved memory.
I dangle my legs in the water and try not to fear having little left to want, for every breath of wind is a delight, and every fruit tastes of innocence, and the sun shines for he and I alone.
We sit side by side in a warm silence, and the white teeth of the hill above us continue to smile.

Close your eyes to the flames of days past-
those trips to the great mountain,
the first time you shot a gun,
that evening drive home from the sea, tired and salty and content, made so many times it became one
Let your heart jump only for a few bars when
you hear music that is now a memory
Or when you are handed beer that tastes of a warm afternoon spent fishing-
Close your eyes for a moment only,
lest you be consumed by the flames you feed.

There's a blood moon in those eyes
by your heart shaped tattoo
and if an eclipse was for wishing,
I think I'd wish for you
I'll walk through your desert
to your river of sorrow
fill my cup with your tears
and drink through tomorrow
No stranger to poison,
no stranger to sin
I'll let you get up
and fall down again
Just please know, my darling,
those thoughts are untrue
this may be your darkness
but I'll walk next to you