Antisocial Networking

Ain't got the do-re-mi
Dry leaves rattle like
empty beer cans

Variations on a Meme
Uniforms in an unmarked car

Sign Language
Giant ropes of seaweed
tied around tree trunks
& a riddle of stones
carefully laid out in a pattern
on the sand

The Getaway
Falling past the lark & seagull sky
            (painted in colors I
                        couldn't begin to describe)
all the streets here
            slope down to the sea

Light & Proportion

The 3-Second Rule

She said I was transparent but

it didn’t mean that she could see through me

Guess Again

Blue sky w/clouds

strategically placed

            like defining moments

                        Smells Like Coppertone

                        Your glory days never did quite pan out

the way you thought they would, matching quarters in the

vacant lot across from the taco wagon, or counting the grains

of sand that filled cracks in the beach pavement as the late

summer sun boiled Vietnamese kool-aid

on the hood of a yellow Corvette

To the Revolutionary Cadres of Big Sur, Morro Bay, and Oxnard Shores (or, Sometimes a Great Ocean)

A short drive up the coast

            & the long walk back

(we had to confirm that the break was surfstainable)

but only during voodoo business hours

            Shadows on the water between tides

                        a pale green translucence
"It is advisable to look from the tide pool to the stars
and then back to the tide pool again."
            (John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez)

Each day is a lesson

knocking back cans of Oly & smoking

            Kool 100s w/Tippy-Toe Soul

                        out on the loading dock

to keep your blue eyes black

& your idle hands busy

            tunneling to Shangri-la

w/the seabreeze whispering like a billion dollars

in counterfeit bills

spilling from the canopy palms

Like So

“The creative person should have

no other biography than his works.”

                                        –B. Traven

My dirty eyes dusted w/sunlight

            hovering between transpacific jet lag

                        & the last recording of the Memphis Jug Band

I used to think “One day I’ll just disappear in Mexico”

until I did (as, but not like, Ambrose Bierce)

Now everything is different

The wind shufffing thru las palmas will never be the same

Something about karma & liberation

which could be better expressed by

her damp panties pulled to one side, for example

The sky is wearing a shiny blue suit in the green room

as seagulls pause in mid-air

above the waves

& all the luminous details

            like familiar faces you just can’t quite place

& never will

Probable Cause

The headline read:

More Buddhist-Catholic Voodoo, or

I Must Have Done Somebody Wrong

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

No Contest

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

            I plead guilty to

            transgressions

            both real & imagined

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

                    “My how time flies!”

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

seems like

forever