By Chris Barton
/ Poetry /
On Rockaway Beach, they eat blood orange
cake and suffer fashionably. How much sleep
to devour one murked dream? AI Jesus Christ
with demonic cue cards. A family
of black holes on the back of a seashell.
Zack went looking for an instruction manual
and returned shoeless, holding his own footprints.
The way an acorn can gouge away a squirrel’s sight.
Often, I believe there is more life sprouting in my friends
than in all this commercialized labyrinth of living. Smoke
condos and prescription mosquitos and parades of tears.
As for me, I am still prepared to bump up against the world
with the awe-bruised eyes of a child.