ForkWord
Poems by Inchiki
Braided Ham
Shooting off into the dark art chart part
with a lanky lumberjack vagabond nose
in a blue jinxed disaster car dashless on
great unfortunate wheels one flawless fall
that put a cigarette hole in my India blanket.
Wanderlust took it and us into a vacuole of
blue sky peppered with squirrel trees for a
weekend alone, we two, alone by an ill sea
whose guts had been brought up on the sand
by a storm. The stink permeated everything.
We lit a fire, got drunk, and writhed with
frustrated dreams. Later I walked alone
along the perimeter of the ocean
a cue ball of desire bulging in my pocket,
to find rocks to smash my egg on, hard by a dead
sting-ray lying upturned, mucousy; a lump of tripe.
I filmed you clambering up a promontory
in black and white, by soundless surf;
scarfed explorers clutching vials of wine
we had stayed out past closing time
and i think we were senseless to the stenches
of my hopes dying, while yours grew
but these are the things that the ocean will do to you
