Chasing the Coppertone Girl

Desire’s nothing but a
cement mixer
                              parked on a cliff

                                          forget-me-not blossoms
eucalyptus fence posts
                              an iron feather in the dust

The fortune teller
              trying to score a fraction of the
silence that is already crashing
                              down thru the palm tree silhouettes
                                          carved into the pale pink skin
of a sunburnt sky