Dime Bag

One step, to either side
(who toppled oceans in his
stride but within the disassembled
heaven, hell & the flip-side
(the mere reflection
we turned to look through & past) as one
maintains that distance a face
behind a face kept.   The last of the
last in need of a bed
& a bottle of something dark.
One gets bent by the light & the
stagger waltz hauled across
by diligent tropical fish.
There is a realm, a prospect
the skyline of which melts
like a gumdrop on the windshield of
Paradise the way rust inches along
a strand of barbed wire & you count
the grains of sand between here
& Yokohama.   It is an emblem
of our disintegration then
that draws out the shadow
like a blade.