Bitch with sand in her panties.

A whisteling whale walks in the sand,
full with sand, loving sand.
Sand that forgets gravity and goes up your hills,
all your lefts, until your eyes.

The look of a kid playing the pirate,
watching salt lose time and space,
in the eternal turning of body and sand,
shaking.

Eyebrows like sugar in the morning-coffee spoon,
a million birds building a nest inside your head,
missing moon,
how can you not drown?

Maybe you're a potatoe that likes drowning,
maybe you're a house that likes crying,
floating,
people jumping from your roof.

B(e)(i)(a)(t)ch, all my sand loves you.
Say hi to your sand from my sand.
It was nice to meet you.


(Wednesday, everything is Wednesday
March and Wednesday have little babies.)