What is left after the rain:
birthday––train north to—the sea—tourists in Gucci—sailing festival starts tomorrow––flirting with girl bartender––service, depend on talking to strangers to make money––tour the decommissioned battle ship—such thick toxic paints––emerald beetle on the—photograph—cousin’s deaf brother here somewhere––cannot meet him today—drifts—waiting in a sweaty crowd for the draw bridge to––warm beer—sun––confusion—could not find the beach––miscarriage & tattoo for—at the apartment in Warszawa—chocolate lemon cake––the tattoo shop––wandered towards the amber ring in the vitrine—shop basement woman in orange—thousand dollar gold-set ring—relics & reliquaries—I actually considered—and the steampunk cafe/bar with hot waiters and upstairs loft—submarine suits stared down––light rain—what am I doing here—seagull—theories for relativity, family that—return to the tattoo shop––he presses the fern—into my abdomen––intimacies––haven’t spoken to anyone in weeks––talk of Belarus––why does no one I know know about Belarus––Baltic seals—I saw the girl with the flag coming off the plane—little boy sleeps under Nag Champa cloud—distractions––neck tattoos––sunburnt face—in the backroom—new exiles—grocery store orchid other kind of exile––miscalculations––a tip that is insulting––the sleeping child from the corner now awake and dancing with—mother––sensibility––I run for the train––down the mossy stairs where the cyclist spins out––sun still burning through water––thick streams—in time but the train is––haven’t eaten since 8am—no shelter at the platform—something literary about Gdansk––lone—how I had intended to see the dunes.
