Flores

remind me my avenues
tonight thigh the treble
inland fog
one armed sailor
& the long dark haired lady
part of the world in
everyone
 

 
entire moon upon leaving
island night rumble
& the long dark haired lady
with the face of a dinosaur
who talked of equanimity
in english, shirley maclaine
and the dalai lama
along the curvy volcanic
footpaths in Azores
 

 
nasturtium among the n
atives plucked
and tucked behind my ear
for the walk. round scalloped
spicy leaves you can eat
orange and wither quick
in my tendrils the word for which
is cacacois or snail
of which there are many on
this salty land in the mid atlantic
 

 
one day I will apologize
I will pass the flower to your
child. you will say. we only pick
what we consume. it’s okay
there are bad influences everywhere

I will think of traffic lights, crosswalks
predators, not nasturtiums
 

 
the long dark haired lady buys
a stone palheiro
old hayloft after being
scorned by her one armed lover
a french sailor, Michel
who lives alone by the waters
near lomba one day after
speaking of shirley maclaine
she says, my window curtains are the sea
Do you like them?
 

 
remind me my avenues
octopus boy
wet suit in your
landscape
offering scrimshaw
in the 800 adjectives
for rain
 

 
and the wide lady from cape
verde poor with a two tone goat
as if half the goat was
dipped in a bucket of paint
who spoke no english,
french or spanish
but had a smile that saved
my day over and over again
 

 
remind me my avenues
you arrive in the downpour
late later than usual
with your delivery
tonight you arrive
intoxicated with no teeth
(or bread) wanting sex or kisses
from both or either of us
(a lot is lost in translation)
kristy is baffled
you are her favorite
where is the bread
wtf. the world (and this island)
is a crazy place and not to
be understood
and I am so fucking hungry
I really wish you had
delivered the bread

Front page image by Ruth Hartnup.

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