Audio Witness

The early morning fogmist
dark from the Pacific
dragging a blade thru the sand
like a 90 day suspended sentence
in rainbow colors
w/a beard
only to fall one day beneath the wheels of
El Paradiso I said like
John Keats robbing a liquor store
w/a speargun
drenched in the pale sunlight
you left in your sketchbook
                                                salt milk foam
                              & the seepage
in thin blue cables
                              as if to sign the confession
              in invisible ink on a sheet of concrete
crashing like an abalone scrap-iron accordian
into a pool of stained-glass violins