I rely upon the kindness of strangers & the forebearance of reptiles

It’s all about the way the clouds are bending
& the anchored wind
as sketched out in an
Arabic moonbook
stuttering like a No Vacancy sign
outsourced to
a ripple-thread of neon
E-changing above the swamp garden
just as my heart would if it had wings instead of aluminum siding
moist & trembling in the late afternoon
haze of smog lingering
& the palm trees they genuflect right there on the pavement

This is the season of uncontested mercy & acoustic glass
as it might be superimposed
beyond the genius of the sea
& you can really bite down into it when you’re wrecked
on nickel shots & love & you’ve lived to tell lies about it

& so the sky tips down it seems only for you
seeing as your tattoo owes more to Paradise Lost
than to The Upanishads
dealt from your deck of wet petals

& soon the coast road is humming your tune
& I’m assuming a plume of mist like shattered chrome
drifts through your veins if there is such a place
just so we’ll know when we get there