1. nine something a.m. i log into
the bloodhut
2. jasper
peeking around from the back seat
one blue/white eye and one tiger eye
australian shepherd spackled black white tan and tailless
the kind of creature that doesn’t have to try very hard
for me to instantly adore
3. entering ocean beach in a gold-ish colored fourdoor
windows down
ryan tells me how he heard NPR cover a story on broetry
(poetry for dudes)
and while the name is brilliant
everything else about it has us shaking our heads at the sunwashed stucco buildings we roll past
4. rolling south on the 209 we both laugh at
cup of yo
frozen yogurt place stripmalled next to subway
5. post office flags at half mast i ask
if that’s for amy winehouse
to which ryan responds
maybe it’s a war day or something
to which i respond
every day’s a war day these days
6. a softball diamond turned dog park
sandy yellow and plants dried brown against
the unending pacific hope diamond blue
7. unknown so-cal plant #43506:
spiky growths not unlike a chestnut husk
growing in bunches
bushes not trees
where moonscape of blonde sand/rock meets
ocean
8. we wing it at the wash-your-own-dog place
fumbling and wondering
is this how you was a dog?
shampoo-scrubbing jasper’s smore’s colored sides and
stomach
spraying down his sand-coated legs
it was sad when he tried to jump out
ryan says later
9. a phone call dialed from the beach to find out whether the tide
is coming in
or going out
meanwhile
the pelican shadows
cast themselves across the sand
10. saltwater crashpounding sandshelf
before it crashpounds my feet
my thighs
my hips set and squared
against the ocean momentum
11. post-triangle we
a 90degree room of glisten-skin humans
parallel our feet and bend forward
crown of head grazing floor
rachel half leans-on
half slow-pulls the skin of my thighs
into a new way of being
12. must be something about
riding bikes over bridges
beacause pedaling on adams over the 805
gives me enough perspective to say/feel
whoah, i live in san diego!
red and white head and tail lights
snaking through the cool-aired canyon below
i’m hung out over it like a tshirt on a laundry line
13. i don’t brag i mostly boast
without fail
my favorite missy elliot lyric
(and occasional adopted mantra)
of all time
detail collector 