Find Me a Golden Street

It has to do with balance
              the inner ear listening to something else entirely
Spare change? (Not today)
                                                I was listening for once
                                                                                (for a change)
Motors Running in the Fog
Memory’s Gracious Gift
                                                                (thinking this)
              & a deeper gloom than all your Topangas
                              shrouded in smoke & mist of Aztec or
                              Abyssinian origin but with hula girls
tragic on a sand road in the lemon dusk
suddenly appearing & disappearing
              vacant & inexcusable except for the
                                                way their hips move & the rustling of
                              grass skirts like the rainy cape of pneumatic
                              kelp groves rocking underwater to the
                              ache & tremor of ocean tides precariously
                              tilted at this hour
like 1001 tangos walking the plank           in another life
that so closely resembles this one it’s hard to tell the difference