back from the beach where
page by page I tried
on / out
other people’s shells
as home for my futures.

I was the cuckoo crab
nesting anywhere I was
invited in, like the vampires.

Trying on smoking jackets,
prisoner stripes, prayer beads,
and shrapnel shields
in the deserts of imagination
still ripe with
open claims.

I wear your slippers now,
not walking yet,
but considering so.

There is no way to stop me
since you did not
get herefirst.

Run the coda.
Seal it in.
Make it mine.