Mongolian BBQ

Shaking off the radiance
in the neon shade of a self-conscious sunset
              arc of cloud, palm tree w/a cam shaft,
abalone taco
                              & the blade of you breathing

I figure the light weighs more w/us in it
than all the grains of sand
                              on Nirvana Beach
              & my heart still clattering
propelled by an adrenaline seabreeze,
              a spoonful of gasoline, a blowtorch
& whatever it is you’re whispering
in my ear

not that I can’t hear every loaded syllable
the blue streak that runs from high tide to the
                              Forbidden City & back
              limping beneath the fortunate haze
                                                that claims the both of us

a web of blossoms lazing in the fade
                              where God parks his cement truck