poem: it is finally 80 degrees in october

little age of shame the wetness carries in the day–
i will return i will wear the
mark of the water, low hung frayed tee-
shirt tied up, over tight body
i now dig back into — this bohemian style
this little dark age, fall
is dead: rise rise eternal
heat. i can talk in French now about abstract
things i suppose the eventual goal: cigarette suck,
simone de beau-can’t spell it, you
understand. the ghost of the autumn aflit
in black jeans, ripped to show
lana del rey ribbed tights up my too-large
white legs: now regain the ocean spray the
bracelets wearing some placid hometown as a
culture I walk boardwalks I buy
the beach in small pieces.