Monday, February 1, 2010

The Flight of the Taco Wagon

Stranded inside a
pink dust of haze
              shaped like a sealion cigarette
                                                & the long tunnel out
                              in a pair of suicide huaraches
like your own private endless summer
              anointed with wet sand
                              & a dirty blonde alibi

in effect deeper bajo de las olas
than your sunken treasure might imply

plugged in to a dime bag of silver linings
reduced to three chords
& you catch yourself singing along absent-
              in front of the all night pharmacy
                              cradled in the perpetual glow of
a kind of sunset neon you
                                                could build a religion out of

at the mercy of accelerations

& the vicarious hips of parking lots near the sea

I never staggered on the steps there
conceding the cracked pavement
my eyes like pins stuck into a pair of voodoo RayBans

just as when you flip a coin
I always call the darkside
              faded slightly turquoise
                                                a look-the-other-way leap
                              from your cadillac balcony

The trial of true redemption slips a little
in the Chinese transliteration
as I guess a Kung Fu version of
Paradise Lost might

              I am assuming a monastic recalcitrance
                              falling like a palm tree when no one’s looking

which is why I’m telling you about it

the x factor like funk & circumstance
                              gathering up all your dark veins
              at the Karmic Swap Meet

like Godzilla rising from the waves

to bench press the tide

shredding the opulent ocean air
the way an inverted whisper
rakes the silence
like a ripple on the surface of a puddle

at the bottom of the sea