Monday, November 21, 2011

Beautiful nowhere & the green sledgehammer light

Tell me what it is & who it might resemble
so that I can learn to sleep through the
really important parts
assuming your reluctance is more like a made for TV sequel than
fog laying down
              flat upon the water
                              on the darkest day of summer
in late November
                              lit up like a cigarette in front of a firing squad
which makes your Mexican silver seem even more perfectly timed
your wrists smelling of mud & eucalyptus
I thought of the bells ringing in your own private Tijuana
& what it might look like from a parking lot in Ventura
just before it rains
                              & everywhere you turn it’s going to be there too
no matter how you say it
The tide excavated by all the zeroes in hundreds of thousands of
millions of kalpas played in reverse & rattling
              like the skeleton of a harmonica at three in the morning
which is why the sky tilts down into the sea every afternoon here
                              explains your moist eyes & camouflage lip-gloss
although I had to rename every blade of sand
              from the jetty to the pier & back again
giving all that has been taken
                                          as one untouched by tears might approximate
the lift & sway of palm trees
rocked by waves of nightshade turquoise
shattering the glass pages of a narcotic hymnal
you thought you knew by heart