November 20-26, 2017: Poetry from Jonathan Hayes and Matt Gillick

On My Birthday

I awoke alone in the Santa Cruz early morning
Put swim trunks on and hopped on the cruiser bicycle
Rode to Seabright Beach, which was almost a sand-to-glass desert
The tourists had not yet arrived on their double-decker buses
Some locals did yoga in a small group on dry sand
And an old lady walked across the beach holding her Scottish Terrier
While a transient man talked to himself looking down at the driftwood

I faced the Pacific from shore and etched my age in the damp sand with my toe

Then the sea came at me:

A wave crashed and flowed toward shore –
Cool, confident, calm, hissing white foam bubbles it subsumed my etching
Ebbed back out to sea leaving an erasure of the moment and eventually, me

Transient Flatmate

Chain lock broken again—where’s the refrigerator? Can’t come to the phone. There’s a counter-balance in the room you’ve blacked out with masking tape and newspaper on the windows and door cracks. The roommate is looking for another place since you’re two weeks late. Here comes a truth: that dark dreams, like waking up to an unlocked door, reside here. The flash of snakes and daylight reverie are highlights from the perpetually lit hallway. Pupils dilated, ecstasy eyes, a broken ceiling fan from a hockey stick. The splinters still spin when the door opens and closes.