Brazil Express

                                    for Pamela

On my way to South America
somewhere behind my bloodshot eyes
smooth slick
              mumbles
in the pipes
but as Price says
“it’s like smoking in the green room where all’s aflutter”

& I get the bends when I surface in a cup of water
w/a loaded surfboard & a soap bubble
with your name on it

Is there anything as dark as that mix of sea & sky?
& that jungle tilt when you’re three steps back
in the photograph & I’m spilling coffee 50 different ways
just to prove that I can