Floater

I was nodding out over
20 pieces of silver
in Ensenada
beneath somebody’s
bleached-blonde
volcano
with bloodred skid marks
& a stolen surfboard
while a skeleton
hand drew tiny x’s on
a bottle of Carta
Blanca inside a
throwdown neon
sunset
planted in leaning
whispers that fill cracks
in the seawall
running parallel to
tunnels dug into the sand
by beached pianos
at land’s end with
knock-kneed bamboo
windchimes rolling their
bones in the surf
as I paddle out just
that much closer
to nowhere