Monday, December 12, 2011

The Geography of a Neon Fadeaway

If you listen close to Hawaiian slack-key guitar
              you can hear the soft whisper of what could be
a rockslide out at the edge of your neural system
              but is more likely just a wrecked hula girl
scooping out your brains with a table spoon
                              The waves all blown out late in the
              afternoon w/the wind & that
                                                precious blue reflecting
              back off the dark sheet-metal sky

It was summertime & nothing was easy except you
& the Tibetan Book of the Dead way you parted
              your hair. It made me want to barbeque my
surfboard & confess to crimes that hadn’t been
              committed yet. The light that held you was like
lemonade in a can
                                                while the black silk resolve
in your eyes would send me out for wine & road maps
& I’d return w/workgloves
                              & Mexican beer.

I thought I’d get me a tattoo of fog
              the way it looks riding in across the water
& onto the beach
                              the last day of summer
              & you’re standing there beneath it all
                                                with your seaweed & pearls
the sky dark, the pavement still warm