Quicksand in a Bottle

So Stunday enters history in the
Hollywood-Baptist style, a bubble in
a mile of milk, yes yes
(only available on vhs).

I paddle thru the fog
outside & inside
& “drowning in a sea of love”
(the way Tom Waits sings that line)
spilling coffee, expecting nothing
caressed by the half-forgotten shadow
of a palm tree. We can no longer submit to

a compromise so inconclusive
to rake the valves of sunset
with your picture on the cover
& a prayer flag burning on the porch.

The sky reflects the iridescence of the sea
or maybe it’s the other way around as both are painted
with a deep rumbling that only gets deeper until it’s
buried within a dull but persistant hum you can tap
into any time you feel like it, but then again who
would ever want to do that, besides me & the sea-stone
I carry around w/me which will either bring luck or
weigh me down so that I’ll sink straight to the bottom
like your own mystic denial
littered with empties.