In the Hollow

He called out.   He flew away.   The
dark not unlike the mechanics of these
leaves of poetry or hydraulic
lifters.   The ocean sings beneath
it all.   Inside.   Surround sound.

Does it rhyme with the asymmetrical lights
that emanate from the liquor store at
midnight to breathe inside the pavement
when there’s a cold wind cutting down the alley
& stars ping in the night sky like

with digital precision that cracks the screen
of your i-phone & tests the pulse of
spanish guitars that sleep in the palm trees

There are gods that are so old they can’t
remember their own names.   Vengeance
that caves in on itself like a rotten Buick.
Broken windows inside waves that
no one has ever seen.

The hero practiced an ancient form of
junkie acupuncture.   Why did I
always cling to this ragged shoreline?
Left a piece of my shadow there so that
I’d never find my way back.

That’s how I got here.   That’s why I’ll
never leave.