You'd Better Have a Plan B

This twilight is a slur against the
fading day
the shape of overexposed
kodachrome colors
collapsing upon cold sweat & diesel
exhaust
where the beach has already left tracks
which you follow
up along the inside of your left arm
to the ruins of an ancient city
built of sea-stones
& glass

You need to go someplace
                              where only the rain can follow
              to carve a name in the
                        muffled roar of the surf
which is a sound you can feel echoing
even now
                        in the rust-colored sand
that flows thru your veins