Kites Over the Sea

red parsley drums poorly sewn
mermen in the grasses with their cloud machines
stumbling nostrils flared sucking wild smoke
gunpowder beaches further on
in beauty the phonolite memory
petite cairns of delicate bones Tanguy said
to je.ll.y. Meissonier a wall of gulls
kept me from the water
on- fell toward the beach
the pained explosions dull
as cackling campfires the scent
of lemon in a triangle in the air
settling as a moisture on a single bone
sweet white line or cigarettes
scooping them up in dozens
grey black paws mermen through
blurred twists of rock and gull framed
the machine in the sea was talking to me
would I defend or desert
inedible nonsense the brackish yellow light
would exploding urchin helmets
become the bricks of an escape
my wits wet paper over sticks
the sea gushed in so heavy like stew
but dissolved at the radiating
outline of my fallen frame
written in tuning forks sat up
as totem poles the sad wine of colors
reduced to laundry huddled
cooking sturgeon
on the wing of an airplane
wreckage coining convalescence
toward the battle of moons
random relics attached to their stumps
for flippers