twenty miles tumble.
between here and the coast I can feel the restraint

of a thousand homesick unpearled oysters
of tired mermaids and their salty-smelling tridents
seafoaming at the mouth, listless shuffling cards
and leering at us in judgment.

at our hotel parking lots, swollen ringfingers.
as our strain reinvolves itself.

but I'm ignoring them tonight, I am taking you home.
I beat those needles, haystacks, and eviction notices
myself, squeezed their bone marrow into a rearviewmirror
before I let you down in the backseat.

and I'm ready for the still life that comes from all the motion.
I'm ready to glide along the armhairs of this American thing where

I have to fight the seafolk and water narcotics with
their spread muscles and underwhelming alibis and I'm
ready for pulling hair and ending arguments with kisses
and I'm ready to be the one who's getting cut off.

I roll up the window, accelerate, and reinvite myself.