several hundred kinds of salt

i tasted wrist bends 
& the ocean's old tongue.
pickling the moon,
we waited with silver lids
like halos. all i want is
to float on my back
in a vessel of your making.
blue salt & pink salt 
& ridding the bad luck
over your shoulder. coarse
& fine. uses for salt bolders.
the salt lamp in your bed room
that could not even begin
to heal the portal
opening in our faces.
how i still want to call you
because there are disasters
only you can give me.
break door knobs. cut 
a city's cord. i eat a pickle
outside a gas station. brush feathers
from my shoulders. carve gears 
into the walls of my cantaloupe.
some salt is for blessing circles 
& some is sweet like ice.
trying to save our pillows.
the jar of tomatoes severed 
into tight grins. do you know
how to remember a fish?
eyes fill the sink where
i try to wash my face. 
you lick your thumb. i smooth
a crinkled document. a market blooms
with salt. there is a salt 
to cure everything. tall glass
of salt. fish who refuse
anything else. nothing like me.
i live brackish at best. 
inhale flouride & fingers.
gasp. kiss seedlings goodbye.
call you & hang up. peel open
your wallet like a corpse flower.
credit cards warped
from salting. lamp glow.
lowering myself 
into a lavender bath. 
salt grit on my back.
waiting for the dissolve
then just water.
i'm waiting to be captured. 

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