Suicide Beach
1
A woman shouting
over the black static
of the waves
asks what I lost.
I straighten up.
Nothing.
The man with her
stares angrily
out at the water.
I’d been searching
through rooms
of seaweed
and broken sea shells
for mirrors
of sea glass.
I open my palm.
It’s something
I used to know,
dying stars
burn the brightest.
2
With my hair and beard,
I look like a mug shot
of Karl Marx
after a three-day binge.
Every object is
a history of its function.
For example, guns.
Born in one century,
I’ll die in another,
waiting for the rain
to move off.
3
She built a nest inside of me.
Other women also floated
by the upper windows.
She wasn’t the prettiest,
but she was the most beautiful.
4
My heart felt as it often feels,
like a deserted warehouse
on an abandoned stretch of track.
What will you do all morning
by yourself? She asked.
She already had the door half-open.
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