Charlie Neer

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

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