Slashing the Hula

Strip the chrome from your fingers
stoned beyond the pale
desultory moonlit sonata spinning in the parking lot
like a six-way mexican standoff

That’s the synergy of a kind of
chaos theory I refuse to
believe in like an ocean sunset
in a ziplock bag

                              All my heroes are staggering in
                                                the dark somewhere
              it’s all I can do to keep my
                              head in the clouds & my sneakers
                                                somewhere between the boardwalk
                              & eternity