PLEASE HELP BLUE PRESS STAY AFLOAT

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Check to See How Much is Left

Each Day Spills into the Next
Heaven’s Ghostly Refrain
behind a pair of mirrored aviator shades
– Is that bad feng shui?

End of Summer Sale
Chalk it up to nerves & a feeling for
dark corners where there aren’t any.

I’m assuming it was systemic
as it lead to all kinds of fancy slide-step action
while wearing a lucha libre mask.

The hot wind from inland was dry & scented w/ozone
like an old library copy of Pliny.

4 Wipeouts & a Funeral
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.

Remember the Shadows
The Chumash were one of the
few native nations to
bury their dead in a prone position
underground.
A single grave would be used for
more than one body
over the years.
The bodies were separated by
layers of whale bone.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Ed Ruscha Said They Called Her Styrene

Damp ash-gray days strung out like pearls
         a pre-existing condition
                  bubbling up from the cracked pavement
 
No one ever said it would be easy but it was
 
         & the implication these remnants betray
                  relegated to the depraved indifference you so
                           carefully cultivate along with
                                 revoked apparencies as here the tail always
                                 wags the dog
 
but when the drink hits the fan
         in the middle of your
                  underwater ballet lesson
         the resonance is as derivative a consequence
                           as a ransom note
                                    written in seagreen lipstick

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

¿Como se dice?

Turning back while looking dead ahead
The daily dalliance that often seems so crucial
Say it one more time as the drizzling truth of the matter tends to
stall out on the transfer
                                            The phrasing of the late afternoon ocean
breeze
              & whatever money you've got in your pocket right now

MERGING TRAFFIC

                          "Where did
                                                      that
                          missing
                                             shade
                                  of blue
                                                 come from?"

Neon highlights to an otherwise dreary tale of redemption
like whatever’s left burning on the altar…
 
Summertime is knocking at the door
Black palm fronds (plumes) a tangle of nasturtiums
 
Fall asleep reading Death on the Installment Plan
 
Peruvian lilies
quite by accident

Monday, June 1, 2015

Small Fortune

1971
Kicking thru the weeds in a tin can vacant lot
listening to Mr. Soul on somebody’s transistor

Evidently a Design Flaw
I concentrated on my footwork which
she insisted on referring to as an “exit strategy”
but I wasn’t so sure of the rhyme scheme
in the third stanza

24 Hours to Kill
“If you are expecting poetry to
tell you something you can use, you better
reconsider the wings on the poet’s sandals
and the rules of the game Elegua plays.”
                        ―Duncan McNaughton

Live from the Forbidden Planet
The distribution of the
divine graces plus seven
sacraments & the over-
whelming realization that
you can’t run from a gorilla

Christ dragging his cross thru yr flesh like a plow
She had that “Let’s get
hammered” look in her eyes
& I said that I would meet her
halfway there

Sunday, May 31, 2015

NEW - Curse of the Surf Zombie













"Opstedal's noir palette covers a large swath of the California Coast, from Pismo to RCA. Loaded with atmospherics, like Turner at his edgiest. Let there be light, but wear 'dark glasses', and of course, watch out for weather forecasts that call for 'partly sunny w/a prevailing sense of impending doom'...John Donne comes to mind, early and late." - Donald Guravich

"Curse of the Surf Zombie reads like the Wasteland on Hopped up Sonnyboy Williamson driving Thomas Pynchon through the streets of LA in a '68 Yellow Impala with a Dodgers hat and a case of French Ticklers in the trunk." - Michael Price

Friday, May 29, 2015

The Money's on the Table & Yeah Yeah Yeah

Deep blue
                      deeper orange
silver green purple pink
                                         w/sparkler dims
& we haven't even made it to the beach yet

A brief pit-stop here to feed my demons

That was refreshing but not very enlightening
& now it's too late & you can never go back but
I don't really want to anyway

Sunlight refined to its purest form is what
holds the wave aloft & resplendent
drizzled o'er w/foam mist threads green & white

thinking ancient thoughts

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