Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Sayonara Hiawatha

The water was water colored
         as was the sunlight that danced across the
                  endlessly rocking surface stretching
                           to the horizon & possibly beyond
         w/murky submarine depths & surface sparkle

The surging pulse that runs thru everything that breathes

A list of places to go, things to do...

         The light goes from gold to blue
         the way it does at Punta Baja
                  as described in the bootleg copy of the Upanishads
                           that gathers dust on the back shelf of my brain

                  & the eucalyptus rattles in three-quarter time
                  a harpsichord played with a sledgehammer
                  while seagulls gavotte across the wet sand

Find the rhyme & follow it, she said
         but where does the breath go when it isn't here?

Snatched away by a crew of devas and asuras who
         should know better than to
                  fuck w/the regularly scheduled programming

Friday, May 1, 2015

The Late Late Show

It’s easy to get tired watching Lolita vs the Vampires
I might almost say it’s a sedative but my pharmaceutical experience
steers me in another direction altogether

& the moonlight drifting in through the venetian blinds
made me think of neon blurred in the fogmist at Hermosa Beach
not unlike the headlights of a submarine trolling the midnight streets

I had to catch the replay in glorious technicolor
all kinds of low-end torque rumbling in transition w/cracked
bells & clarinets washing up onshore with the incoming tide

I wore dark glasses beneath a desperate haircut & the
cypress trees were huddled above the beach like the Women of Thebes
& I could see the sky breaking open behind them

partly sunny w/a prevailing sense of impending doom

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
                "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