she only greets
resounding beats;
grains, in the sheets,
emptied in streets;
some in totes—
baseless gloats
with powdered notes
—blackened, most;
the feeling’s toast;
returned, but roast
far from the coast,
can no longer post;
skin is itchy
scabbing to bitchy;
weekend laundry,
come back gauntly
jaundice, jauntily
fresh from the sea
—sweat and algae.