Cavort

Cavort 4/16

Every night I stare out at ocean and flap my arms into the wind.

I've been told hurricane wind can be leaned against.

Salt creeps in my pores I smell like rust until morning.

Hair damps dreds into kelp horseshoe crabs tangle in eyelashes
the sunrise glazes leathered skin with wrinkles.

My puckered fingertips are prunes.

The corners of my eye barnacle and freeze.

I become figurehead a gull flayed.