PLEASE HELP BLUE PRESS STAY AFLOAT

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

If Answers Were Easy We Wouldn't Need Questions

In hock up to my bejesus, I surfaced sometime during the
Poet & Peasant Overture (Franz von Suppé charging thru the
string section wielding a blowtorch)

It was Tuesday on Earth and probably Tuesday on Mars
& a cool breeze worried the eucalyptus trees that leaned over the
sand gravel path to the beach below

Carried away by jangling guitars & a lemonade sky that just won't quit
origamied into something resembling a Tibetan surfboard
but only if you look at it thru turquoise colored goggles on 
Cinco de Mayo

I was sure I could make the numbers work
one polished blue stone divided by a 40 year summer vacation
equals the square root of its street value minus the Venice pier at dawn

It was the same kind of song & dance that lit up the T'ang Dynasty
only this time around it had a punk reggae polka groove to it
rippling across the pavement in the here to forever leadpipe coastal haze

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

One More Drop

There is that light & heavy wind to contend with
& a swimming pool blue turquoise sky rocking
all the way back to the land of the dead
w/a few thin clouds feathering out
as though they had something to say but thought better of it

like a sheet of silk torn right down the middle
if knowing what knowing might be would make any difference
the tree fern whispers out the side of its mouth like Elvis
in his decline & you set aside the machete
& plunge your wrists in the beaded foam

Seagulls calling from the jetty speak the same language as Aeschylus
though with an accent that is straight from the surf ghetto
& I made detailed drawings of your tattoos but
I can't show them to you because they are mine now
& this is how I will love you

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Beyond the Saturation Point

Palm trees hovering like divine scripture
begging for more as if it was the only way to pinpoint the
exact coordinates that will transport us to the
here & now

      A norteno accordion tuning up under water...

            Sheet music fluttering in the breeze...

                  Samuel Taylor Coleridge / Pacific Gas & Electric

      Any meaning other than it so encumbers recognition
      like a red Corvette driven straight off the pier

            "There's more concrete in the world than there are good waves"

I was spilling the last glass of water in California
translated from English into Japanese into
Arabic into German into Klingon
& back into English

"It all makes sense if you stand back & look at it from a distance"

A tangle of mist laying flat on the wet sand at the water's edge

It was like walking into an old time revival meeting
drunk off my ass
with blood on my hands
& a song in my heart
("Backwater" by the Meat Puppets)

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Curse of the Surf Zombie

Standing in line at the beer store "looming" as maybe Frankenstein's monster might on a Friday night in S.Cruz.  I couldn't even begin to tell you & I won't even try weaving among the shadows.  The vault of heaven is wide open & the stars assume you know the name of every constellation from Andromeda to Volpecula but that doesn't mean you can find your car keys. The palm trees rattle their bones & a light seabreeze fucking w/your equilibrium has you doing your best Joe Cocker imitation right there in the parking lot.  Just one of the many obstacles you'll encounter along the path of least resistance.  Slick liquid neon palette of sunset still lingering in the heavy Pacific sky.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Last Tango in Shangri-La

Sound Check
The late afternoon sky was like something
Miss Montana 1979 spilled on her bikini
out near the ice machine
at the Sea Garden Motel
in Pismo

Under the Influence
The light was all
                  nickels & dimes
                              dancing across the pavement
inside the sound of gears grinding
                  just a block from the beach

Adjusting the Float
                  The sunset haze
                              reaching for the
                                          pulse of the tide
            with compression dings
            in silver mist
                              propped against a chainlink fence
it was like the Ark of the Covenant
dissolving in a shot glass
all smudged with lipstick

Monday, March 16, 2015

In the depths of the purple sea

A chunk of beach concrete
            & a small carved jade
to set against the weather
                        anywhere but here

Like a whistle in the dark
when no one's listening

There's an underlying lie that begs to
difference when in fact all's
too precious to matter for more than
a fractured second (if even)

& the song comes round again
on the sunnyside of a failed rhyme
that I know you know could be
rescued at the last minute by a
simple misplaced syllable

Now it's only this slanted light & air
trembling
                "Hello my name is Mustafa"
                "I come from Cairo"
                "I came to fix the pipes"

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Keep the Change

I walk like an octopus
across the parking lot
bathed in gray-gold sunlight
while asthmatic palm trees whisper
like tumbleweeds in a refrigerator

It’s Sunday on Earth

I’m burning matches beneath the tidewater
architecture & shattered pipes
drizzled in turquoise
with mudslide tremors & gaited horses

& contrary to the haze (my legacy)
the ocean’s inlaid chrome is all lit up
like a kamikaze hood ornament

There are more direct roads to bliss
I’m sure but I’ve always preferred the
scenic route

Sunday, March 1, 2015

It is what it is

Pale shadows bump & grind among damp
palm trees & their muffled voices…

“How many candle-lit beach scenes does it take
to pry the lid off your Peruvian kimono?”

The sunlight filtering down thru the
everpresent haze.

The Colonel told me that I had eyes crazed from
a thousand years of killing whales.  I took it as a
            compliment & put on my sunglasses.

The sky was scrawled with lipstick
& I was burning matches to keep warm while
reaching for your hand because you know
we’re both alone.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Say My Name

What happens is the way the weather changes
or the sun sitting a few inches higher in the sky
bending back along the wings of 3 pelicans
gliding above the surfline…

A fistful of sand & a rippling curtain of mist
is about all I’m going to need for the forseeable

PART TWO (later that same day):
The collected writings of Chuang-Tzu
balancing on the broken neck of a tequila bottle

PART THREE (whenever):
A skate wheel, an avocado, the nape
of your neck & all the crooked numbers left
            on the table like weighted dice

CODA:
1) That’s you speed-shifting on Mulholland Drive
2) That’s me in the headlights