Patagonia

Just as tears tumble through
those shipwrecked eyes in the mirror upended
like a subliminal Hawaiian vacation
so that it’s Ventura last night or
Santa Cruz on the other side of
Pacific Pipe & Glassworks
              (I recognized the bloodstains later
              in the flimsy morning fog)
Imperial Beach
                              the dark side of the tortilla
an elbow of sand bumping up against
a shoulder of concrete (Malibu)
I love the way you hold Gethsemane between your breasts
when you say “Maybe” & the psychosexual resolve
              arching the spine of sunset
the shadow of a neon six-pack swinging from a
quicksilver pendulum blade
as all the groovy reasons w/sticky fingers & glimmering
repeat themselves
                              on the wet sand at minus tide