Credo

August, seasick with revelation,

sloshes the slime green pilings, its

I am

thundering, enlightening, nauseating by turns

Styrofoam bobs in the dun foam

gargling messages

remembering the beverage once offered and enjoyed,

knocking three, four, even five times

on ears long dispirited

The heat of anguish

is ultimately unsustainable and

the empty hammock sags between 

Palestrina

and the mass grave