The Lobster Trap

Do you ever yearn for an experience so deeply that you become careless?

It happens to me often. Usually with food. I panic, eat too quickly, and blister the roof of my mouth.

There’s a complex emotional equivalent that I’m trying to capture. The attempt of a sensitive starveling to be satiated by affection, to finally belong.

You can want it too much.

You can burn the roof of your soul.

A poem about a day that I burned both ways, with tears in my eyes behind a lobster pound.


belfast blues

strangers in a coast town
slipping away, swaying
salty as the sea breeze
behind a faded shack

crying gulls
stall thoughts
of trawler engines
churning beneath the bay

rime on my lips
blood on my teeth
losing my voice
in shallow gulps

the fighters
and the fearful
all get boiled alive

blistering tongues of fire
against the misplaced intentions
of a maple-lined harbor

(01-OCT-2018 – Belfast, Maine)