Blanket Statements

POETRY

by Hugh Talmage

Have we not wandered intoxicated

Through dimly lit streets after sunset?

Like code clinging to function, the seagulls

Circle trash beaches once caked with bashful

Tourists. I slipped off my shoes and chased

You to the tide.           The blanket with all

The constellations matched the sky, floating

Through the abyss we watched patiently,

Specks of space dust burning into fruition,

Martyrs for good fortune running naked into

The furnace.