I wanted a ring with a carved Indian
face, or a horse hair instrument
that droned, but the Gulf was beaten
with oil in its gills and feathers,
a desperate mix, viscous and black.
Give me the horse skull,
keep the credit card.
Give me a great blue adventure,
I’ll just stand and stare.
The pelican grounded,
the sand like cement,
the open wound of our planet
cauterized just enough,
the shallow drill heading for bone.