Blood on the Remote Control

Dealing lost time on the moon in
someone else’s shoes
could put a dent in even
my own sunbleached eyes
                                          & by 3pm the fog
somehow shuts down the sky
                              though it’s still warm

“Earthquake Weather” they
used to call it
                                                when I was a kid
                                                                                    in L.A.
The distance from there to here
                                                                  I’ve decided
is what lifts the dimestore glitter off the tide
sworn to faraway eyes & a few choice tears
like drifting sand in the Paleolithic diorama
in your head

& I said take a walk with me
              ten thousand years from now
like it was yesterday