Friday, September 3, 2010

On a Wing (Frozen Pipe)

It’s an onshore wind that sweeps the beach clean
as the sun goes down & I tip back the last Corona
in my sleep before the fog slides over the water
the way the Sirens always did in The Odyssey
& armed w/cigarettes & fear I pull to the
side of the road to let the ambulance pass
I wake up at 5am the fog is chewing up the
dark I can smell the ocean spilling in thru the open window
I visit Joanne & Donald who are living on a massive houseboat
                                                a triple-decker Donald calls it
              Joanne says they’re sailing it to Fiji soon
                              Everyone speaks Russian in Fiji, Joanne tells me
She is bestowing great wisdom upon me
              I know this is true becuase I can’t understand any of it
as I’m leaving she hands me two books
              The Tropic of Concrete
                              & A Streetcar Named Virgil
I wake up & go back to sleep
cleverly step to either side & the machine tumbles past
just like Lew Welch said it would
                                                shadows in grass skirts
strumming the pavement (when I woke up I realized
              that the law of the jungle
                              has the same zipcode as the Heartbreak Hotel