Coastal Towers

I can't do this anymore
Dreaming in parts
With the bruises of sea grape trees
Fresh on my soft arms
The smell of coconut oil sweating in and Budweiser sweating out
On Mel
The pool man
Pool attendant
Shack with a hammock
A tool shed
A broom closet

You can't hold me much longer
By my ankles
Over the deck
Seven stories high
With nothing but bay breezes
To catch my tender fear
Whisk me away
Out to where the jet skis clip the chop
Chasing boats for great wake
Looking for hammerheads
But only finding
Lost manatee

If I squint I can see stars
Through the sliding glass
What keeps me from
Slipping through the bars
Heading to the parking lot
Across the canal
Where the Sandman stands
Under a globe light that sways atop a dusty post
There are pictures of the war in the bookcase
And fabric mesh over the stereo speakers
And the furniture is real
--
3/10/09