Charlie Neer
Charlie Neer is a queer writer from the Bay Area. They work as an assistant poetry editor for “Foglifter Press” and graduated from Saint Mary's with an MFA. You can find them in “Transfer” magazine, in the anthology “Show Me Your Papers,” and “The Swamp Literary Magazine.”
half moon bay state beach
by Charlie Neer
grey
fog trembling over liminal landscape
sand soft as the stroke of split ends
against skin i was told to come here
i was told to go back to my happy place
a therapy tool using a peaceful place
a place where you are now gone
walk cycle hiccups as my feet reencounter the infinite playback static waves of the ocean displayed as the mottled foaming coat of a dappled grey horse each time i return here the mane becomes greyer as the tide sucks through the strands hissing
white sand trichoptilosis
black sea stars extend
a shack of bleached driftwood
lone against stones i cannot manipulate
dreamstate<i lay on a blanket the wind picking up sand-sprinkles
ice plant advises me of the reach of this salty refuge
fleshfilled leaves tickling the underbelly of the dark>
we used to come
to the beach
we would lay under
a blanket
watch the ocean
break in each
other’s vaporous
eyes until the fog
enveloped us and
we disappeared
i awake at dawn
your body absent
mine is still here
fumbling in silt made from distressed photos the memories of
time before only ground pigment after my fingers rubbed your face
from all the frames cue marks i have attempted to dissolve so i
can
see the ocean without remembering the gelding of my body use
hypnosis to bury twitching flank
there are bones of a great horse sticking now through the grit
ribcage reaching to transitory stars bleached praying claws
sand whistling along the powder pursued by skating wind
how can a locus exist when flesh is divorced from the frame
precise location is false a reenactment a mutation of memory
how can i feel safe with the ghost of these hooves engraved in the sand
made ever darker in the waning twilight