Mongolian BBQ

Shaking off the radiance
in the neon shade of a self-conscious sunset
              arc of cloud, palm tree w/a cam shaft,
abalone taco
                              & the blade of you breathing

I figure the light weighs more w/us in it
than all the grains of sand
                              on Nirvana Beach
              & my heart still clattering
propelled by an adrenaline seabreeze,
              a spoonful of gasoline, a blowtorch
& whatever it is you’re whispering
in my ear

not that I can’t hear every loaded syllable
the blue streak that runs from high tide to the
                              Forbidden City & back
              limping beneath the fortunate haze
                                                that claims the both of us

a web of blossoms lazing in the fade
                              where God parks his cement truck

Let It Bleed

              On a beach shaped like a
Martian dollar sign
                              we gently step the other
              side of the spoon
anticipating eternal
                                                lullabies
                              that hush the
                                                                broken valves
                                                of the sea
“But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space”
                                                                —John Donne
to toss a shadow across the sand
(the things you can’t remember like the things you
can’t forget
              raking the tide

Breaking & Entering

                        for Ainsworth

Floating a serenade in the
twisted rubble of a gunmetal tide pool
bleak two dollar polaroids
& a long line about paranormal bus tickets
When the Chosen One signals
from the platform
only the skeleton of a smile
could overshadow the leadweight alibi
but we won’t reduce life to claims of
righteous disregard
like anybody knows shit about
& the scratchy voice on the other end
fades back into itself
either way another takes its place
One dark spin deserves a rail of silence
running down the numbers
all nickles & dimes
as I wanted that vague assurance
on the wing w/uncontested rain

You’d think there was a soul

The dead don’t know so
              don’t bother asking the
ripple effect in your
                              ice cream eyes when you
              disappear
                                                in the mariachi fog like
                              Voodoo Chick or
              El Kahuna Grande
                                                picking up the tempo
                              in the Twang-o-matic

certain barbedwire logistics
              describe the plum blossom mist
                              that drizzles down when she
                                                                shakes her hips

                                                that’s her in the middle
              every heart-shaped molecule
                              like shadows on the cobblestone sand

& I’m over here
                              confessing my black t-shirt
              bleached by the sun

Should Have Known

                              for Miguel

A minor rumble of bad luck equals a siphon hose on my meager monetary stash but otherwise kicking slightly in the fog & drizmal of the last coupla days of sunless coastal damp.

I got an email from our mutual friend, the renegade poet, who is now ensconced in Mississippi thru a complex series of drug & alcohol related hijinx w/$20 grand scammed while circumnavigating the airwaves.

Not unlike you bracing the night air inside a hotel in Portuguese.

How long will you be doing the watusi in the Brazilian swamp?

Dedicate your prison lagoon sonnet to
Swine Flu Beach
                              & a banana tree
& give my name & address out to The Girl From Ipanema
              because when she passes
                                                each one she passes
                              rattles down into the dust.

Now Like Forever

Just as sleepwalking the palisades
anticipates your lo & behold
these comatose palm trees conspire
to sabotage your survival instinct

Only thirst could unwrap the air
around you like that parked inside an
obsidian mirror half buried in the
tideflat quicksand still ticking

like pavement in the sun bending
telephone poles on your subconscious
hypnotized by the inaccuracy of daylight
reflected on the ocean waves

Broken Clouds

Sky full of holes
fingers falling like damp feathers
of concrete
              upon yr uncertain lips—

Heart like a hammer

as I meant to explain the bones of a prehistoric
Cadillac w/pieces of rain
                              & a list of suspects
              only marginally personified
by a stutter-step w/Black Mazatlan,
Iggy Pop, Attila the Gun, &
Malibu Barbie
                              (half asleep like Mike Tyson’s fist
              & rocking the velvet indiscretion
pretending to remember the weight of a single
iron tear

Blood in the Water

Bombing the coast highway
              w/true love & a bottle of fear

like the birth of the cutback

              silken seas, Arctic flowers
                              hauled away in a Mexcan tractor
                                                                rattling past the
                                                Jetsons-go-surfing hamburger stand

w/a heartfelt Adios to all them sleazy
motel neon refugees
                              tapping their crystal eyes
              on one last sunset

Off Shore Drilling

A sheer see-through mist spills from
the dumptruck sky & I’m stuck here
w/a Norwegian surfdog harpoon
& a six pack of cough syrup
in the chrome hubcap mirror
7 miles from nowhere
all sheetmetal fog costa azul & crooked
A desperation tango nailed to the beach pavement
but the angel doesn’t dance here anymore
& the tide snaps off skygreen waves like iron
in the teeth of pale pink
laundromats & all-night drugstores
sinking in the dark sand
darker when the sky stalls out
along the iridescent horizon
as seen through cheap sunglasses