Coming Apart, A Visual Poem

Coming Apart


1.

Something’s

torn
loose in
me:

finding its way into ink,
opening my throat.

I guess I won’t

shatter

(entirely)
--unless--

I persist in

storming the

tide?


2.


On Sunset Cliffs,
I was beyond shaking,

carved

further
& further
into stone.

You spoke of thunder

--palpable distance--

as we gazed upon a sea that was

seething:


what seemed
solid
could’ve gone at any moment.

I kept wishing
it was

absolutely

pouring on


us.