Eyes in the Sand

Isn’t it just a kind of abstract passion
to disregard the loop the sky
makes
when you drive your pickup truck
off the end of the pier?

A narcotic thump that separates the
timing of your lips
& total surrender

Tipping back the flamingo bottle
lit from the inside
knowing all the while that
death is out there
welding pink shadows to laundromats

as thin sheets of silver occupy
your once & furtive tiptoe collapse

tucked away beneath the idea of it
swamped out as the tide pushes in
like a Diebenkorn cheat sheet
slicing the weather & tilting parking lots
down toward the sea

a late summer bend in the palm trees
              sand in drifts along the curb
w/sunbleached neon buried in chrome
                              handwritten on the waves