putting off eating the leftover good wishes of an ex-
friend, sitting at a seafood restaurant with a girl who knows
my skin better, i'd devour every slippery oyster shell and keep
the ocean on my tongue until i could remember how to speak.

i leave a depression in the flooded floor of my stomach so that
when i realize i'm supposed to be eating my words they can
settle there like home. i'm too tense for the present but i'm past
the past, holding in my hands the torn ligaments
of eyes with perfect hindsight, singing, "i can see clearly now."

the sun's always flush against my eyelids - something like keeping
my enemies closer. don't tell my skin, but my mind burns too.