If Answers Were Easy We Wouldn't Need Questions

In hock up to my bejesus, I surfaced sometime during the
Poet & Peasant Overture (Franz von Suppé charging thru the
string section wielding a blowtorch)

It was Tuesday on Earth and probably Tuesday on Mars
& a cool breeze worried the eucalyptus trees that leaned over the
sand gravel path to the beach below

Carried away by jangling guitars & a lemonade sky that just won't quit
origamied into something resembling a Tibetan surfboard
but only if you look at it thru turquoise colored goggles on 
Cinco de Mayo

I was sure I could make the numbers work
one polished blue stone divided by a 40 year summer vacation
equals the square root of its street value minus the Venice pier at dawn

It was the same kind of song & dance that lit up the T'ang Dynasty
only this time around it had a punk reggae polka groove to it
rippling across the pavement in the here to forever leadpipe coastal haze