david moses diaz

painting of a woman on fire (beachside)

smeared across this door

gawping through a screen to the dune 

behind my house   i wither like wet 

faux leather gloves caught in beachgrass

chrissie watkins coded salty hands

sewn to earth with ribbon weeds

crucified by burs to be ½ couth

inseparable, and re-dedicated

a beautiful sunset  otherwise

oily with beeswax i spiral 

down to high tide  Is it birds? 

Is it plain? Is it me on fire like an orchid

at the top of a berm? a leaning minilith    

stoked brighter by the cooing glimmer 

skipping from horizon    eyes

cinnamon with love & co-dependent

thoughts and prayers   that you find 

it in your heart to feed me when i refuse to cry

the saga of a curdled embrace:

serially spoiled or reheated

money on the next one

to finally solve things. 

epilogue

there’s an incredible warmth

i’m covered in raised hairs like freckles;

cheesepull from drying glue

between your finger pads 

my laugh’s a canvas

stapled to a scrap wood frame

& vibrates when you bounce

your nail in its camel center

deep noise like butterflies 

before a bad choice

anthropomorphism may cause separation anxiety/ 

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