No Rote

Entangled in a net of no one
to blame’s making, I forget
what I said yesterday 

about this pier and its hurricane
scars. About to begin
another plunge into dense 

deconstructions
of choppy water. About to listen
for those dirges we prepared, buried 

in this sand before I began 

to follow musicians around with this
spill—I don’t forget theirs,
they come ashore with ease.

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