Friday, November 1, 2013

In drifts from out

The clouds lay flat against the western
sky like shadows clinging to a brick
wall which from here resembles the warped
pages of a water-
damaged book
the inscription illegible
a map of veins that have burst within the
suicide morning glories
cascading around your shoulders
You gave them away as if anyone could
along w/the signature bump & grind that made the
coastline easy to understand
but difficult to pin down
whispering the way it sometimes does
in the heart’s house
as though it was the first time
& I’m bending like a blade of sand
against the late & early fogmist
w/the steel drum song of El Pacifico
piped in thru the tide
                        darker than yr eyes