I'm clung to the chop of life.
A slippery boat in the greasy waves
who are rough-capped with sea,
so the whales don't fish
and the sharks don't bite
or mind you floating through them
to a sandy bottom.
No sand but oysters lined with cuts
and spikes on your feet
pants filled with water
itching pain from the salt
licks every knick on your body.
The rash that won't go away.
I'm clung to the chop of life
Have you heard?
Your glasses crushed so much
and the water hurts so much
to see you fall down it's not sand but oysters for a bed.
Mike's Pizza at 89th and Lexington (closed 2012)
Rockaway surf cam 2011 (boardwalk destroyed in superstorm Sandy, 2012)
Trash myself to the last place on earth
Bigger than I'll ever think a pyramid.
He brush the groove I travel in.
Borderline summer weekend's rush to the sea,
bedding in tow and lobster craw loshed up in a crag,
washed up on the beach,
lost up in a winter batch whiskey makes me droop.