Straight from the bottle that stuff
lingers
like a puff of Papal smoke
an
inquiry into the motive of the wrong-way driver
no
comfort to take & none given
I thought of the bells ringing in your own private Shangri-la
& what it might look like from a parking lot in Huntington
Beach
just before it
rains
When it’s your dice or mine, all
or nothing,
that she be there in all her splendour
(Charles Olson)
w/her
irradiated pearls, ethanol eyes
& camouflage lip-gloss…
assuming her passion is more like a made for TV
sequel than
fog laying down
flat upon the
water
on the darkest day of summer
in late November
but just as smooth
just as relentless
when I’m six
steps from whatever
preempted
by the evening tide
