This morning morning’s breezes
bending back around. Ocean
view
through dusty asthmatic palm trees.
Dead batteries spilling rust.
I
am building a boat in
my head
it will transport all of us to our private islands soon
enough
w/ukuleles & bongo drums triumphant.
Just as saying “Please” in German is bitter the
near rhyme a tear scores when torn
echoes in the heart’s house when no one’s home.
The
sky swept up in
haze
Waves of timeless silver-green glass
with brocade &
collision insurance.
Apparently
there is a difference.
She
calls out their names
tracing the veins of each steeped in
ruin
&
candlelight. Dark motel room throwdowns
w/plenty
of ice.
All
that glitters remains
carving
across the face of a Tijuana pipe
like bending silver spoons in your sleep.
