The Spanish Prisoner

Pink seas.   Windowpanes.   Gulls.
Rose petals falling thru a pale green sky
              flat & glistening in the hydrogenic haze
the way the light falls & the rain
                              translated from the Latin
              rides in on the pulse of palm trees
                                                conceding the cracked pavement
                              as if the look in your eyes could mean
                                                                something other than the
                                                                                      drop edge of yonder
              blinded by the silver on your wrists & the
azure reticence

bumming a smoke off the god of the dead

but like a harmonica folded into your seacloud halo
& no more dirty moon sutras dragging meander

sponsored by Pacific Foam & Pipe

w/footprints in the hollow
& a fadeaway reflection you can peel off
any time you like