Thursday, January 7, 2016

Sunrise with Sea Monsters

by David James Brock 

You’ll love my children more than I do. 
I will brag about a sapphire dug

from the sandbox. You’ll think I’m 
hungover. Gin. I am, and I’ll have kid shit

in my fingernails. A night swigging art 
is a hulk eschewing the shore, but the

swimmer is poor, sighs then sinks.


Dumb tentacle slaps the single parent:
a detriment...only two eyes watch...

Compare it to a pirate lost in a gulf. 
Half vs. a four-eyed Leviathan.

Compare it to the one armed
juggling her bully boys. Go on. Pump out

new cowards who fear the stone they turn to.


You’ll hate this. Fires blind the

coastal fabric stitches. DNA and dental 
records are ash. I sketch my dad strong

with Poseidon’s head: ψ.
Drag phobias to the water column’s

lowest part. Here is where a
sea god bobs, a body mishmash birthed. 

No comments:

Post a Comment