Church Key

Another time I smuggled a truckload of
the obvious into Edge City, soaking up gasoline
beneath a seamless sheet-metal sky.   It was
summertime & nothing was easy except you
& the Tibetan Book of the Dead way you parted
your hair.   It made me want to barbeque my
surfboard & confess to crimes that hadn’t been
committed yet.   The light that held you was like
lemonade in a can.   You had already demolished
a season of sunsets in your eyes & I could feel the
heat of each one sinking beneath the broken
pavement buried in whispers.