Friday, December 9, 2011

Was you ever bit by a dead jellyfish?

Not light, not dark, but in between
& proprietary
              just as one thing
leads the other into the next
I gave only that which I could not take
              walking in circles on Front Street near the beach
under the Slowtember sky
                              bleached blonde vato language
& a sea breeze to hear it through
              on either side of your wanting something
whatever the reason
                              will rehearse your eyes against it
all lit up like an Ensenada drug store

Versus the relentless chiaroscuro I’ve got a flashlight
              & a lifetime subscription to
                              the sky over Hermosa Beach
Versus the wild pink yonder I’ve got a full-scale replica of the
              Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan
                              lifted from the blood red turquoise
                                                handpainted on the waves
Versus an avalanche of steam-driven guitars
              I’ve got a minute of silence
                              wearing infinite space like a cement kimono
Versus you just sitting there
              waiting for me to say the wrong thing
                              I’ve got another chorus of
                                                Cowgirl in the Sand

Aside from the fact
                              or because of it
              the light falling
                                                against the water or the
sand or pavement I thought was
              our self-fulfilled prophecy
left on the beach for the tide to find
the virtue inherent in any vice
                              stumbling like a tear
(silken seas, cold crystal flames)
& the calculated risk her silk & lace describe against the
smooth continuum her skin
                                                                insists upon
                                                to be random & percise
unaffected by exposure even
              as those reclusive inventories
                              in the hollows
              parallel to bent strands of pearl indulgence
snap back into the standard pulsing rhythm none of us understand
or really listen to anymore
& down the street from there
                              her shadow falls like a hammer
                                                but the flickering celluloid sky
                                                                                  ain’t feeling it