intersection of Africa and Beach Flats
tomorrow, or the day after
shattered, distracted, standing by the gate that once betrayed a
husk of roses in the evening fog, the sunlight slanting in
I meant to say nasturtiums & the rattling
of metallic palm leaves
easily mistaken for the last scene of Hamlet
or Reservoir Dogs
Sand pushes past the horse latitudes
We drove there like Mayakovskyor Su Tung-p’o in a late model Chevy
with 4 bald tires & a cracked cylinder head
burning oil on the road to the land of the Dead
Sometimes the mist drifts past like a great whaleother sometimes it’s more like a Martian landing party
at Oxnard Shores.
Standing by the gate. Spiked kool-aid. Dark sun glasses.A t-shirt. White.
Fluttering in the dark.