most American agencies have radars that
blink quickly
and lose direction. But oh how they
slip off posts
over-seas and are sucked into open
Carolina flatland fields
(where there is constant 99 per cent chance and
more than enough room for boys
to dance--in strobe
lights and darks and
ballet slippers), will you? oh
please join me on the grass
or over the bridge. Stone solid,
we will sink as movie stars
and all those safeguarded do and smile
when shore-starved jumpy kids
catch our scattered limbs,
brushed with foreign sands,
and the sun's a blink-blinking red dot
somewhere else.