Strumming the valves & hinges

“I could feel the weight of the wave in my head as it moved”
                                                                                    ―Dale Herd

The mystery of a late summer morning
threaded with fog
enough for you to kick up the highbeams
on your Manson lamps
burning a hole through all that damp nothing

There’s a reason you can sit that still for
a minute or two it’s real nice when we can
both suffer like that
              adrift in the River of Souls
tidal river
                              ocean shore
I woke up & I was a black man but
why was everyone calling me “Blondie”?

S   l   o   w         g   l   a   s   s
all green all gray & prehistoric
                              lifts up & crashes in on itself
dark white foam along the jetty
              a lifetime measured out in moments like these
carving across the face of a Tijuana pipe
like bending silver spoons in your sleep