Pulpy Seafoam

wash up to the gristle-sand. sun on my back and my skin feels heavy and golden, blue rushes slip up and over me. naked, but for a multi-colored hawaiian sarong, i get up, push myself up and onto the street. i think that there are cameras everywhere, buzzards with unblinking eyes, circling. the sun solidifies my reverberating skin-cells, nourishing. milk, milk. i wander into his apartment, a boy that i don't know sleeps here, we've never met, and he isn't home. the shower is cold and white, the soap makes me feel dry. i drench myself in his sun-tan lotion, borrow his wake-board, and leave the place, careful to lock it on my way out. my skin picks up from where it last left off, prickling and glittering, softening and smoothing, elastic drawn slick. i wonder why i still have no clothes, and i am dark as summer. the water looks inviting, i want to return, but i'm not sure where i came from, when i first washed up that day, 4 months ago. i realize i have been here for such a long time, skin dying and being born new, glistening and olive-like. but for the life of me, i don't remember which shore i was first drawn from, that let me slip out into the waves, that brought me here, to new kingdoms of dawn. blue wonder.

"Water is the principle of things; Water sustains all, and to water, everything returns."

"There is inborn in every artistic disposition an indulgent and treacherous tendancy to accept injustice when it produces beauty."

"Battersea how it is/ it's over forget/ memories full of chocolate/ I've got to get over I've got to forget/ and s'gurd is the one I don't like/ I'm afraid of him I've got to forget"