06.18—08.02

the saline sea
sucks air and punches
the elderly stooped in icy waves
searching for gold

buried secrets of lawless
Byronic youth, the utter
lawlessness of energy
and appetite

Yes, brother, it’s getting late here: 8:10
evening hunger flexing stomach against
emptiness and boredom as I recall
how we had had it with boardwalk burgers served
cold, terrible fries salted beyond help
from ketchup and fresh-brewed tea. “It grieves me
much more for what I cannot do for you than
what befalls myself,” that I cannot offer
relief from that salty taste, that condensed
vinegar prick on the tongue. We had had
enough, and we were right to rebel, to spit
our cud into the sea and starve ourselves
toward a future free of excess iodine
fatty pan-fried meat  and grease limp buns

a future given to appetites                                         
and energies
forbidden

heat
light
the holy ghost.

Micah Robbins is a poet, fiction writer, book artist, and the editor of Interbirth Books. He lives with his wife in Dallas, TX where he is pursuing a doctoral degree in English at Southern Methodist University.

SHELFLIFEMAGAZINE : issue #003