Cold Reading

“Yr lines, sunny boy,
bingy, not calm,
head busy jabots,”

read Madame Fraus,
by the tide that rips
rocks thru yr palms.

“Saline swim,
bit sweet lit life,
palms stage aligned,

neck aflame, hair
shorn horizon
frizzled smile.

Silverfish whitecaps
aquiline wings smack
& bay across draft brow.

Paddle out, palms
cupped, plod, slog,
moil, & no sloom.”

No sleep, steep crag
to pine green palms,
in line for clay water.

Around another point,
the persuasive ocean
spreads open palms.

“I’ll see you next week,”
Madame Fraus said.
“Leave the door open.”