Picking up the pesos

Wondering what happened
to all of the money
you didn't spend on drugs...
_________________________

          PAGAN RITUALS (the nuns
          used to pass around a can
          collecting coins for the
          "pagan babies")
_________________________

Pitching pennies into the sand
          the shoreline drenched in pale sunlight...

Great cities will grow there over night

                     & just as soon will vanish

Eternal Combustion Engine

Haze of blue light turning white

right there on the foam ledge

flower of Michoacán

reminds me of how warm the pavement could be

at night in Ocean Park the summer of 1975

released on your own recognizance…

“Do you know at the offering of which libation

the waters become endowed with a human voice

and rise and speak?” (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad)

everything wet, trembling

waiting for you to make the next move

Travels in Abyssinia, the Harar & Santa Cruz

It’s dark down here on the sand

although the sky’s lit up like

Mega-Millions gnawing on a lightbulb

above the pearl-handled tide

& the way your breathing sort of

          ripples thru the mist

makes me want to pull the shade on

a thousand years worth of

                              ocean sunsets

but I’m hooked on whatever happens after

as the streets give up their

trembling denial

                           & the moon hauls out it’s

          black velvet paintings

                          each worth at least a half-

minute of silence

                       

         pacific standard time

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

            Vista Point

            Ornamental pavilions of rust

            consecrate the shoreline

            caught in the glare of fishscale chrome

            as far as the eye can see

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

We get that golden aura off the

late afternoon sun & we’re several bottles past

the trembling blue agave light

as at Playa San Pedrito

previously breathing fire & sea-mist

The initials carved there in the half-light

explaining nothing as I can only remember

the taste of her lips

& the smooth transition

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Angle of Repose

Bending in the rain

like a double-jointed palm tree

as the flashlight batteries give out…

Arcades of black eternity in blue mascara

            out there in the windblown seaweed

the meaning of time like a stolen wristwatch

& you can sing along if you want to

following these damp footprints back to when you

never knew the difference

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

            When asked of their origins

            the Chumash point to the west

            out over the Pacific Ocean

            as being the home of the First People

            a place they call the Land of the Dead

            where the Great Spirit lives

            in a crystal cave

            on the bottom of the sea

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

BROKEN SILVERGREEN SENTENCES

SUSTAINED BY THE LYRIC INSTABILITY

OF WET STONES BLINKING IN THE FOAM

She was stapled like a cloud

to a corner of the sky

the color of beach pavement

                                    & I was a wine-stained tombstone cutback

as ominous as a shadow

                                   falling across a bead curtain

                                                                  in another room

The sunset glass made it a perfect setting for

a soul session with the drainpipe crew

& we danced on the string of a tropical memory

                                   as she always preferred something euphoric

a tidepool with a fuse in it

for example

                                    lit & sputtering

as long as it left a scar

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The water was cold

              the waves had a glassed-in purity

that shattered into white foam

                            with plumes of mist flying back

                        (The Dragon in the Waves)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Circling the Drain

like trance music & sun stroke

to float the memory

            sleazy but essential

& no more shipwrecked kimonos

to worship in silhouette

            where we’re the only survivors left

to blink       in the fog

                           & wonder why 

Valvoline

Some say one last kiss could have
made all the difference
 
            but the wet sand isn’t talking & the wind
                        cuts down the alley like Odysseus
                                    crossing off eternity on a pocket calendar
 
& no I don’t believe we breathe the same air
 
2.
Sunset at Tierra del Fuego
A solo for steam-driven guitar
 
3.
            The light returning
            e quel remir
                                        suffused in haze
            silver in shadow
                           la luz de Oriente
                                        in a sharkskin bikini