A violent thought drives
him to grab
the nearest railing
so he won’t spill
himself onto the deck.
The calm water
is a song
he wrote before he knew
how to speak
to women with mouths
like hers. White knuckles
and wet wrists, he remembers
now. Oh, that’s right.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 
VERY STRANGE
MAKES ME WANT TO WRITE
FERRIED PART TWO
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I would like to read that.
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AN INHABITED
REALIZATION
WOBBLY
HE COULD SPILL
OVER THE SIDE
SHOCKWAVES
WOULD TRACE HER CURVES
PAST COTTON TO SIGNIFICANT
THOUGHTSTREAM
REPETITION ASTONISHMENT
A LOVING AMY
ADDRESSEE
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I like it! : )
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