Medium Blue Vinyl

Outside there is a world.   A word.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Out, up from the
waves, the sea, say what you will,
reconvene that last
finger of cypress.

Insoluble gray-white vistas
              returned to silver, to smoke
dependent upon a parallel vocabulary
                              the shuffle of glass cards
on the horizonless horizon
              that later you can’t deny
hardwired to the pavement
                              driven down
into the sand

I let it all fade into the sound of
waves
              humming out there like
silk-weaving looms
                              in the opium dream I
never had