cass lintz

Tour Of Separations

I rename the beach. I rename the sound of waves. I take everything I can, like dialect and those small orbs that dance orange into frame and loiter in the pennant of light cast, silent as dead canary yellow. I release the two magnetic stars, their earnest binary. I bury the ring in the black guts of traded t-shirts and tape the corrugated sky shut. I take the hill with the spliffs, those eucalyptus sentinels, smudge them clean again. Crush the cherry. I wipe every mental table, the one in the very back— throw all the uneaten apples out, finally, dump the ashes, choke on bloom & stop smoking, stop traffic as I cut from our old route and run into woods yet to be named.