Poem: Drinking Beer on a Beach

The lip of the beer bottle whistles if you angle it right in the wind. 

The pitch deepens as you drain the liquid. 

If you’re really good, you can bend the pitch while the liquid drains into your open, upturned mouth. 

Rustling leaves sort of sound like a fire burning. 

Overhead planes disappear momentarily into clouds.

They sort of remind me of what I pictured a soul going to heaven would look like. I thought about that a lot when I was little.