If Montana Had An Ocean

Ornamental pavilions of rust
consecrate the eucalyptus
rattling in the wind
above the sledgehammer surf
& the sun mixes it up with the ocean
so that a drowsy numbness seeps in thru the haze
at 3:36pm           swimming in serotonin
& so I am schooled in logic
& blue movies           at low tide
as performed by Earl Scruggs & the Fantastic Baggys
although the blonde sky nods out
during the cantilever section
as holy & blank El Dorado
handing down Neptune’s shoes
so you no longer need to remember
the way the pavement laid down at your feet
someone had folded it up & put it away
but I swear I can still feel the way the shadows fell
reincarnated from a ’64 Chevy
& there are photographs
& the last time she was standing by the window
I had one lung in a watery grave
& all the missing pages from the tidebook