Alternate Route

A hand reaches for the bottle
grows wings
              otherwise delicately confused
not even the charm of a doubt
where once was parked a garden of
broken glass
              w/orient attendants & associates
passing thru the deeper bronze shadow
of a working hypothesis
                            Their several garlands hoist
ensigns of light & proportion
              unless of course “motel” & “vacancy”
could rhyme
                            the sand & the time full of
sighs & accumulated loss
all that I no longer am yet at arm’s length
I had watched
                                      & was shaped (shown)
The tide a rush of green steel rusting
along the edges where stones
disappear
              the shoreline uncertain
crumbling even the sea-wall beneath the sun
upsidedown
                            as the torn sky bends in the wind
whatever I pretend
              this is my life now