sand dollars

your concrete stare,
left behind my reluctance,
there will no longer be chasms half filled,
wall to wall, no avian escape,
bleak misery from the warmth of the sun,
in the cracks of the ocean bed,
a home from malevolent currents.


I need concurrent gestures
as much as I need a half driven pike,
tell me its a solar eclipse,
warn me that it will not be total,
but half and half is beautiful also.

on the one hand, you make me smile,
on the other hand, you carved it in.

you're like a heart attack
without the attack.