just
because my eyes have gone hard-boiled,
does not mean that I do not see
from my river-rock distance.
He holds the lighthouse keeper's daughter
hostage
her father is obsolete
he never mentioned that brunettes
are not what he requires
and she pleads
from her tumbleweed path
I am seasick, heaving overboard
a lifetime of regret and familiarity
with warlords or their occidental equivalents
Today, tonight,
I swim unshoed, confident in my outcast status.
How many men promised to be kokua?
How many men lasted?
Imagine me
in irreverence.
I raise my arms; I stretch my neck.
Show mercy to these misguided girls.
All they ask for is a cobbler and the
holes between your dreams.
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