myself into love—

razor blade. Lately

I’ve been feeling free

    to ruin my body.

Slim strip of beach—

     night—

January—

  there is nothing here, but me.

What is a sign?

   The dim glow of a lighthouse—

through sea fog? Snow

 falling on cracked sand dollars?

A crab’s empty torso— easy

   meal, devoured

by gulls? On the rocks,

  by the roadside

a statue stands guard.

  She is watching me. Men

have died here. She is saying— now

they are nameless. I sit

  by her for awhile. The woman’s body

protected by a scarf of stone. I want

  to be seen. I search for something

to leave with this woman— a small shell—

pounded sea glass – but there is nothing & so we part

ways without a glance. Her eyes without pupils.

Empty boardwalk—

heart of winter. Buzz & glow of signs promising

  cold beer, fried dough, games— all grown cold.

The only light here: a dim glow from my cigarette.

  Something about the absence of the moon—

as if it is telling me, You are nothing, little bird— nothing

more than skin.