My Heart, a.k.a. the Names of Yachts
on the Way to My Daughter's School
after Caki Wilkinson
Turbulence Nirvana Spoiled All In
Saint Susan Serena’s Song Paladin
Wet Dreams Awakened Soul Prosperity
Power Privilege Ghost Audacity
All that Jazz Tangled Up The Matrix
Happy Reflection Why Not? Apocalypse
Sunshine Sundancer Blue Knight Sandy Feet
So What Who Cares Life is Good Life is Sweet
Lil Nauti Ocean Eagle Ace of Spades
Tommy Girl Bella Vita La Verité
Tomahawk Nikki Grace Magic Blue
Bohemia God’s Plan Archipelago 2
Soul Seeker Shame on Me Triple Play
Forever Me Gusta Seas the Day
My Heart, a.k.a. A Capsized Yacht
on Its Side in Biscayne Bay
Normandy Islands
I never would have known you existed
if you hadn’t flipped over and begun
sinking right by the road two of your four
compartments drowning in the shallow
impenetrable muck of the bay which
according to recent reports is toxic
to anything that needs light or air but still
holds whatever’s buoyant on its jagged surface
case in point the next day a man drags you
to the jetty beside the curb and using ropes
and his truck as a counterweight pulls you
upright and once again you look like
something that might leave at any moment
a mirage a posture a feint because
the next day you’re capsized again
capsized being the position you prefer
you want half the world to be the sky
and half to be the silt in the end
you’re incapable of pretending that you can survive
for even one day outside of the place
you call home
My Heart, a.k.a. Brenda Frazier
“Brenda Frazier, most highly publicized of last season’s debutantes, and John S (Shipwreck) Kelly, shown here recently in a New York nightclub, boarded a Pan-American Clipper at Miami.”
— Getty photo caption, January 30, 1940
We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier—
her minks, her broaches, her perfect gowns.
Each night, the sun disclaims the sky to praise her.
The glass bends toward her lips as if to save her
and is that a palm tree she’s wearing upside down?
We are all in love with Brenda Frazier.
Did you see her picture in the Sunday paper?
She’s the rocks where the ship runs itself aground.
Each night, the sun discards the sky to praise her.
The drunk on her arm never seems to phase her.
A misplaced hair on Brenda? It’s never been found.
We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier—
How her collar blooms as the pearls taper,
her stare, a thread that never comes unwound.
Each night, the sun deserts the sky to praise her.
And now the living call out her name, as if to raise her.
Nothing stays buried in Miami ground.
We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier.
Each night, the sun disowns the sky to praise her.
