I've finally put together a full-length manuscript to shop around. It doesn't have a title yet.
It turns out my poems contain a lot of bodies of water. Eight poems include the word "water," five include the word "ocean," three include the word "beach," two include the word "shore," five include the word "river," and people and animals are swimming, drowning, and drinking all over the place. I thought about calling it Beaches. If I got it published, I could say on the thank-you page that people were the wind beneath my wings. Okay, I am definitely not going to do that.
There are also more references to herd animals and cars than I might have expected from myself. My other title idea, Buffalo, Buffalo, Drive to the Shore, seems maybe a little too silly.
Here is the last poem I wrote that's in this thing:
The Ash Valley Tapes
The ghosts in this film have forgotten
to be humans. They use their eyes
to locate danger. They use their claws
to rove through the dark. Their mouths,
octopuses solving puzzles. But they recognize
our faces, and our heroes reckon this since
the ghosts have returned. Across the oceans
and the rivers that seized them, the ghosts returned
to this very city in the desert. Now they eat cats
and tinier parrots. Their haunted heave sighs. Here,
have this can of lamb. But ghosts are no kind
of pets. If they see you cross a congested street,
they will join the traffic. If they see your head
poking out of the water, they will swipe out
their laser bows and take dead aim.