The seabreeze played clawhammer banjo in the rain.
I was hoping you hadn’t noticed. Seagulls. Clawhammer. Wind.
Banjos in the rain.
Maybe you know what I mean. Maybe you’ve been there.
Playing Parmenides to my Heraclitus. A not quite harmonic
Secrets buried beneath the waves. From Point Dume to Rincon.
Seagulls cutting through the early morning mist. Sand
scratching the bottom of the bowl.
I saw lights on the water like neon trembling that night
in Chapultepec. I didn’t want to know what it meant.
Octavio Paz vs. Fu Manchu.
The tide comes in & swamps out the surf. Drinks were served
out on the veranda. I preferred the rainpuddles
in the parking lot.
Chinese checkers. Correspondence. Empty mind meets empty sky.
The source code of a generation.