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Peter Davidson || Surf City, Here we come

Surf city, here we come


We weren’t even nesting at that point. Helen took the stage with Tom. There were pies and drinks. It was so unlike Cambodia.


We left without training our eyes to the sundial and they fixed upon tin and other flashing metals, wire, neon, neon wire tracing the shapes of beer bottles and golf balls.


If only we’d left earlier. I spilled bleach on the couch and you said that’s okay, we’d just get white pants that’d get whiter when we sat on the white couch. It was like fighting.


What if it was all like that – I grab a piece of twine and my fingers unravel, wire pulling from the throat.




Surf city, here we come


Here every flower. Terror if you have to.

He isn’t what he’s used to, little dead dream, breath and either he, husk entirely broadleaf he


Terror. If your father’s a racist say he’s not simple. Brickwork pleases nothing. Act slowly. Skin-colored hair clouds became mouthing each and every ever


just an afternoon with you entirely different sister. Once lit a friend on fire.



Surf city, here we come


Here ‘s the Raider Nation

chasing hate crimes

that floral newness.


Mouthless prison person

basically rap lyrics. Victor

selling paragraphs. Go to CVS.


Paralysis says

I love stickers. Consider

the judge who doesn’t

go shooting with his nephews.


She wasn’t a Satanist quite yet

selling propane.



Surf city, here we come


You tell me everything will end.

You want this to be relative.


Tryptophan was exposed

to be a myth of soporific foods.


The bestiary label does disturb me.

I’ll write a song for Richard Petty.


Back to the skinny infomaniac

almost fertile     drier


and we’ve all known boxers who say

Everything is everything.


A semi-hidden apple orchard

in the Superstition Mountains.


Mexicali Special’s what I call it

Senorita. Suffer


Surf city, here we come


Terminate you’d force react, sect or innate turn a planned handler sakes psalm. Hand begins your back, behind calf in a calfskin hat swear you didn’t do this, clever off to offer ear it ate and earache, oh, subject, swear you’ll eat it always, eating bear and mustard grave into a lake. Echo date with dentist later. He’s men or in mind missed hunting javelina.



Surf city, here we come


Where keep her

the hair stain mulberry

but mildew’s more it

your red hairs go

here every mirror

knives you’ve given me

where I keep the

knives you’ve given me



an hour

or two ago, ten trembling knives

thinking, we all have brown hair



Offered one more

egg or another

else elastic      noises, no

oh, reify, recap demonaic,

miasmal humming

ending awfully early


isn’t excess convalescent

as hiding near a closet



Surf city, here we come


There was a collage you’d made and it

was peeling. Little trucks and grey pills

and plastic mannequins. You light

a match and burn the door open.


When you made the collage I said

I feel like rotting ice which was because

of the TB scare. Spindles and pins were

everywhere we felt like wool. We felt

like bowling. We were breathing

the fast breath of showers and we were dead.


Your wrist is split you paint the walls

white with your kiss. I remembered a can.

Is tin. Is paper plate is glue.


I see your

eyes going green and I know this is

Delaware. Carve me a lilac. It’s Sunday.

We stayed too far from the dam.

You scare, you give, you claws.

My books are made of wax.


Your skin peels like a magnet hold

my hand I know you’re grey you

hold my hand. I like that song

because nobody’s excited about surf city

everybody’s already there.


There is no north in Delaware. One

toothache. One Carolina.


Surf city, here we come


liquid difference, misses

or us


and I am not alright

with farmers


deleting serenades is one thing

if you’re curious


red ink

slitted missive gutted pomegranate


What trips me is liquid

been waiting for you


knowing portends forgetting



you being the slow fruit of me

do me in


O, Enumerator

licking cave


barrenness in tryst

you my this


Here’s about you

about a lung or two


Surf city, here we come


Be psychotic for the vanity. The incest of nothingness.


The chickens are pissed. Why are the framers working on the house next door the day before Thanksgiving.


Brilliance is mimicry, a blind uncle. As in the loneliness of forestry professions.


The school shootings are inevitable. Here s a symphony – invest in razor rash, my symphony. The sodium is so affordable.


Meadows confuse her with their sweatshirts and dead batteries. God bless us for being born American. Amen.


Surf city, here we come


Everything is gift wrapping. Never went outside. Not finding things affects ruins leaving everything blank or blankening and moths – easy phantoms.


I threw grease from the rooster we killed on the shed.

Peter Davidson lives in Tucson.