a desolate beach, a glowing rosary
of seaweed and stone, planetary snow
crawl into sand. something dark wings
over the ocean solitude of this lost
human millennia. frocked between red
lips of water and world, my cobra jaw
clamps a brined mollusk of old
ancestors, granulated sugar
falls off the bite.
but only i become
left behind, wounded, separated
from the spirit herd. trapped
haunch, gargantuan memory
hail, throat cold with cosmic rain. but
this rite of passage to become shatte
r
e
d
egg shells, cracked sore
of pinky prophet
bone. i wake
to laughter, i wake
the sun. i lug
a slow punch into white
fabric what becomes
fabric
still, i stay. remain
a yearlong wilderness, wandering
without tongue towards the wet
shore,
afoe writes poetry in Brooklyn, Glasgow, and elsewhere.
