Pacific Slope Poem by Stephen Motika

shoals in sparked night
real creatures crushed by

heated hunter
gathers me, in long stocking

pearlescent, feasting
salty heat of
abalone
stewed in derelict measure

climbed, naked, on board
each body, a mosaic in sand

drift, sea rind, carapace in hand
to which we, a fire

red carved, each tissue ripped from small purse
tessellated surface
talus shade


in tears