Worthy Beach

Blake Wallin

Beyond a trivial border separating
skin and bone, my entrails spilled out
along the deck of your elegant house
as I let you know that I probably won’t
see you again and a person who has
impacted your life so much these past
couple of years will reap what his gutted
body will sow into porch panel wood
and your childless, ghostlike cleanup
crew won’t get there until hours forward
to help make matters better.

The misplaced affection of the scene
got to me in that tiny cul-de-sac of
rotten indexes, cooped-up and hemmed
in emotions, and nerves so iced and raw
the veins stick up like water pipes
running through a sludge of wasted flesh.

Take easier breaths at night to help
blood flow more naturally throughout
your body, which needs all the help it
can get and to help your mind, which,
as we all know, is separate and distinct,
clear out the doldrums you’ve been
experiencing – not to say I’m that good
of an influence, more to note that I too
have walked onto shores without shoes,
and, similarly, have knelt down. But, unlike
you, my jeans ripped when I hit the sand,
my nose filled with water and a little sand,
my hair went forward, prostrate,
and, despite everything, I didn’t pray.