sonic
swamp percussion
&
I’m right back where I started
My tendency to trespass vs. the neon
palette
of another Pacific
sunset
&
I’m slamming back the methanol
like
a one man carnival
no longer recognizing the face that
stares back at me from
the bathroom mirror
but
that’s okay
it’s clear that whoever he is
he doesn’t recognize me
either
though we’re both wearing the same
Yater t-shirt
w/the
blood stain on the left shoulder
as in the Palatine Anthology
&
there’s a seabreeze strumming a one-string banjo
in
the arthritic
eucalyptus
& the hazy blue sky leans back
in yr eyes a minute or so
just
long enough for you to shift gears
dropping to your knees
to pick
up the loose change
although as every beggar knows
if
you can hear it hit the ground
it can’t be worth much
