Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Korean Piping

The bare knuckles of the coast
at low tide
Bluedark descending
ghost riders in the sky
above the Cowboy Surfshop
Today is somebody’s birthday
Nobody I know
She said her name was Frankie Johnnie
I was sharing a smoke with Art Gomez
pushing into the darkness
fishtailed down dirt roads with Mexicans
and their sisters
“You a surfer hey boy?”
I was a boy then
You couldn’t break my heart
I had poisoned myself deliberately
Had visions, stood outside God’s house
in the rain
He wasn’t home
“Frankie Johnnie? What kind of name is that?”
“French” she said
I would have thought Paris,
Texas myself but then
what do I know