Thursday, June 15, 2006



Our footsteps cross the shifting wind
where sandpipers dance down the shore.
You buy bananas-on-a-stick
that taste of salt, or tears, before
we lie upon that glimmering bed
below the cliffs, where tides have left
shells like wet, white bones, and sleep
christcrossed where sky and earth are cleft
by sea and froth.

Your lips taste salt, like creatures born
of green sea-water. If you bleed,
pale drops the color of the sea
will fall into the ebbing sand.
We please ourselves deliciously,
we're satisfied, and glad of life.
The world will end this way, won't it?
It will, without a doubt, and at
the speed of light.


Turquoise CRO said...

Mmmmm a banana on a stick, have you tried freezing a banana??? It is tasty! Cool poem!!! Wish I was there down by the cliffs of the sea! I LOVE the sea!

chiefbiscuit said...

Wow what a treat this poem was to my eyes and my inner ear! LOVE it! (Thanks for your comment, complete with a Southland burr, on my blog a bit back now! - just picked it up today.)