like Neptune’s
trenchcoat
on the bluff at
sunset
a looped &
windowed raggedness prevails
glowing in the
dark
like a
radioactive ’64 Chevy Malibu
w/a dead alien
in the trunk (Repo Man, 1984)
as we seem destined to
occupy smoke rings
that drift
up into the
Martian prayer flags
hanging among the
fly-strips
out on the
porch
another prerequisite
for a salvation we
never signed up
for
which I took to mean the prototype
tilted in the mist
above the
beach
bouncing
quarters off the dark
incoming tide
