we move our bodies in different directions

crudely marginal along tired axes and angles

through long floodlit thoroughfares

through fields

through destinations

through staid November towns

to the beach

to the other beach

to another gritty pit bitten out

crushed in the aisles

convex coast

flagging shoreline stretching

everything lurching at a slow speed

stretching and aching

each of us the away team

new sights for sore eyes

everything dusted over


everything wholly dishonest

not capturing for fear of not capturing

the back teeth hinting

the back door gone at the hinges

all windows’ panes brimming with quiet light

and all books’ spines cracked and open

face down on the floor

all aboard the boarding up

everything slick with a hot wet lacquer of having left

and having never once wanted to come back

there is no peace in running away