02.6.2012

June

Beauty’s too easy
when routine
bites

hard;
the ocean’s
a fucking bore.

Where’s that
Winterlike
light

when
it’s wanted,
light promising

only

snow.



No
reason
but in echoes,

bottles
on the floor.

Those
are sirens
behind me.

And it’s
like you said —
would’ve
turned
up

dead
in a car.

Shannon Tharp (© 2012)