Balboa Pipe

Drawn to the corrugated
pre-dawn steel & it’s paleolithic
doo-wop siren call I do my
stagger dance down the rocky
cliff trail carved out of mist
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morning twilight reflecting the iridescence of the sea
or maybe it’s the other way around as both are painted
with a deep rumbling that only gets deeper until it’s
buried within a dull but persistant hum you can tap
into anytime you feel like it, but then again who
would ever want to do that, besides me & the sea-stone
I carry around which will either bring me luck or
weigh me down so that I’ll sink straight to the bottom
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Wet sand from here to
forever (low tide)
Something ticking
in my eyes as the mist
turns to a transparent silver
fabric I can roll up
& save for later