The Coast

plastic bags in skeleton trees, pop cans in evergreen. we’ll make our own continental shelf & the lighthouse is full of ivy. we wait for radiator clicks. the room swells with cold. your halloween decorations are still up. it’s ok, we wanted orchards in our front yards & rabbits in our lawn. right now, i need a camera shaking in the doorway, i need the asphalt to sweat. the air-freshener smells nothing like the forest. you are on the roof, the glass rises.

it’s called oil-pulling & and i’m not embarrassed. don’t bother—the light will change. i’m worried about time. yeah, i hucked her beer can into holly st. & i was inside her when she asked me to name her mother. i’ve never known. sex became a bookshelf & when i fell in love, i became a tree. there’s pressure cupping the bathroom door. in pool halls, i learned to tear curtains. the staircase gave us.