Me Too Neither

You re still testifying at the Trial of the Century
one hand on the Manchurian Surf Almanac the other
describing an arabesque

& so the sky tips back into the redolent haze
a powder blue upholstered barcolounger

I tune in to a concerto for cypress tree & fence wire
a virtuoso of the plastic saxophone
the dented fender (blue w/rust)
steel drums            DIMINISHED CHORDS
a mandolin could be mistaken for a cement culvert

An early morning windchime sonata
w/clouds drifting in on a river of Liquid Drano
measured in intervals like beach tar
but only when the heart drops like a pelican

Parenthetically (I said)
you are the needle in my wing
& like a broken string on the 
fortune teller's banjo

but there's a place we can go
bypassing the relays
a place just outside your comfort zone
where the last black lagoon under the sea turns blue
& the fog echoes in silver

This day is beginning to look like Oscar Wilde in a bunny suit
The windows are halfway open
I'm reading a book about the Opium Wars

The rust-colored sun dips into the turquoise sea
& the ancillary bikini dolls confirms
Love's transcendence as well as the bitter after
taste in the classic sense

& like trying to parallel park a backhoe
out on the mainline at rush hour
(which should have a certain metaphoric appeal to
anyone w/an extended playlist)
her tiptoe tango sets fires in the kelp grave

CUSTOM SHAPES

A short set of 12 new poems published by Repo Press.
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