I thought about Norfolk and Norfolk folk,
And Norfolk bricks and the Norfolk coast,
I thought of winds in a hollow dune and waveless seas
Where the heat washed a breeze -
Into a summer fret!

Where hawking gulls who balance by
point towards straight roads at sunrise
Where the hillocks fall down to
The summer's edge

In the wash of the Gibraltar flats
Reflected fractions of a perfect sky
Form blue pools in the heated sand
The stuff of dreams
That Norfolk
Land

in april my parents and i
went back to the
east coast, new england,
for a funeral.
my mother grew up there
and i was born there.

i hadn't seen the ocean in
11 years since we left.

i miss the waves
i miss the cool
sea breeze
the seagulls
the marinas
the houses on the water
the random shops
i miss everything
it's more of a home than
this house in the middle of
nowhere ever was.

The ocean spray of salt
The everlasting sounds of waves
The sand, a locked vault
The tide, an unforgiving grave

The sun rises at the edge
The memories so celestial
I take my loyal pledge
My heart a sailing vessel

Sea shells, colorful in sound
Sea life, beautiful in sight
A dream I’ve finally found
The sunset, a hypnotizing light

The airborne seagulls calling me to sink
The surf alluring a magical peace
My endeavors start to shrink
The stars turn to be my timepiece

Come to the sea
Hold my hand a while
Let the waves melt our feet
Into the sand
The seagulls land
On our shoulders
Calling out to the wind
The salt rust our bodies

How many years will it take
For our light
To burn out
For all sailors to see?

Flabs upon *****
of excessive skin
flock towards the sands
to soak up the rays of
the day light hours
and delude themselves
in the roped off
safety zone waters
of the seashore.
Benched from lack of participation,
sober and observant,
you can't help but overhear
a conversation about the salty tastes
and textures of boys *******
between four teenage girls
who look like they just entered
the early stages of middle school
and should not know anything,
at that age,
about that topic of discussion.
Seagulls slowly glide overhead
waiting for the perfect moment
to bomb white droppings in the
******* mouths of the hodads
and steal their bacon while they
quickly scurry off and guffaw
on the inside.
Young ladies *****
hang proudly out of their
skimpy bathing suits and stare
into the sunken eyes of perverse old men. Socks and sandals roam the shores
like tyrants to detect metals
in the sand with their hiked up baggies, buttoned up blue Hawaiians
and fisherman hats.
They'll find god before
they find these treasures.
Unsupervised children puke peaches
and use plastic shovels
to pour buckets of sand
down the backs and cracks of rubbernecks with discourtesy and no remorse.
Adults shaded, relaxed and
nose deep in books
leave the responsibilities
of their parental duties
with inexperienced lifeguards
to babysit their youngsters
while they doggie paddle
and submerge in the undertow
along the waves of the oceanside.
Concession stands serve
delicious yet unhealthy,
deep fried grotesque of
appetizers and entrees
to the potbellied roly-poleys
as they wash it all down
with a fountain of syrup
and carbonation.
Bare footed beefy **** diesels
and their skinny minis
walk hand and hand
over the broken beer bottles
and sharp rocks buried in the sand,
unscathed and luxuriate
in teenage love
and summer fun.
Dorks and dweebs
play sand sphere
with bunnies and honeys
while Gremlins and grommets
hunch like Quasimodo
on their surfboards
and ride the ankle busters
and pounders til the end
as they hit the bone yard
at point break.
The sun shines down on all of us
leaving that warmth and radiant glow
as you watch the mythical creatures
and sea serpent shaped clouds
slowly overpass.
What a lovely day at the beach.

My head is a bay. The memory of you like the waves that swarm when the wind switches and the whistle of the ship is sounded. The longitude lines fall on a map, the navigation is helpless when I'm bowed in the presence of your eyes. That eyes which was made from the rainy season.

Your ships contain anxiety, vulnerable content, whereas love is a minor deviation from a cruise line. I am the dock for you. Anchored and wake the seagulls. For a long time no one leaned, or just reminded that the sea is not always blue.

Anchored and wake me up. Because your whisper is more patient than the air that hit the masts. Your presence is the reason why light is never lost at the top of the lighthouse.

Anchored and wake me up. Because the best morning is when my longing is covered with your eyelashes, my sleep is overgrown with black dots that hold your lip line, my vanish is ****** in a trough hidden behind your soul.

Wake me, with the most desolate shaking you have.

I had lung cancer,
now I'm minus that airbag-

Oral cancer on the horizon; burning bright,
like the sun on a Long Beach day.

I'm still vvaiting on the Seagulls;
I have this bread to toss.

This relationship vvith Death breeds: **** Fear
a nevv beginning; I'm ready.