Monday, February 24, 2014

To Our Lady of Wet Sand as she swims down from the parking lot naked beneath her tattoos & silver

Martian blue eyes
hypnotized by the sea
I guess beauty can only
cop a plea as the sky bleeds
like a jelly doughnut
& my sunglasses don’t
hide a thing
The Heart Sutra
inscribed on a grain of sand
reminds me of sipping a Primo
while listening to reggae music
in the Aloha Island Grille
on a dark night in February
with water in my ear

I may have looked like the
shroud of Turin but I felt just like
King Kong on a bender
teaching the nuns how to
cheat at liar’s dice
& bragging about surfing Todos Santos
w/a girl in my fist