APOTHEOSIS

The miikfaced man stares at ocean' foam

thinking, saliva:  repulsed.

The wind itches his embarrassing places

under gulls colicky as newborns.

Vaguely needing a urinal,

he ruminates bluely on the

confluence of ketchup and blood

recalls dreaming a filbert-sized

kitten called Lucian, precious

and persistently missing.

Cats have always made him feel safe

for a second.

He considers the Latin, “lux,”attempting

interpretation, but is too distracted by

pangs of deteriorating bridgework.

The melba toast woman wears her usual face,

a continuum spanning salt and stone

fantasizes falling into something good

like a vat of chocolate mousse, or mushroom fettuccine

or a disinterested coworkers throat.

She smiles inward, wicked, over the sanctity of skulls.

They've come to the water to be lost for a month

but in the anticipation of anonymity

forgot and packed the other.

So they stride under crying gulls with calliope thoughts

the tide approaching and receding like an undecided hairline

managing their limbs like mannequins.

Of course they ponder the ocean's promise

but worry over the lassitude of sharks.

Reluctant, the sky spills out its wines.

The moon rises, a severed head.

One day in June it was, love separated easy

like an egg,

between cigarettes nine and ten

or the crossing of a leg.

The man admires the blunt ugliness of jellyfish

feels disturbingly human

the woman leans over ripples of knees,

plucks a shell with robotic glee

The ocean will shudder the shore all night

ecstasy on ecstasy.

Do octupi sleep, wonders the man,

pondering restless legs times four.

Her mind is sand, blank as time.

Warm lights beckon in the rooms ahead

which they haplessly hope to reach

before the swallowing surge

epilepsies of of heat lightning

punctuate the noosed moon.

The air has a certain estrogenic smoothness

overly-pregnant with stillbirth.

Copyright Julianza Shavin 09 08