Antisocial Networking

Ain't got the do-re-mi
Dry leaves rattle like
empty beer cans

Variations on a Meme
Uniforms in an unmarked car

Sign Language
Giant ropes of seaweed
tied around tree trunks
& a riddle of stones
carefully laid out in a pattern
on the sand

The Getaway
Falling past the lark & seagull sky
            (painted in colors I
                        couldn't begin to describe)
all the streets here
            slope down to the sea

Light & Proportion

The 3-Second Rule

She said I was transparent but

it didn’t mean that she could see through me

Guess Again

Blue sky w/clouds

strategically placed

            like defining moments

                        Smells Like Coppertone

                        Your glory days never did quite pan out

the way you thought they would, matching quarters in the

vacant lot across from the taco wagon, or counting the grains

of sand that filled cracks in the beach pavement as the late

summer sun boiled Vietnamese kool-aid

on the hood of a yellow Corvette

To the Revolutionary Cadres of Big Sur, Morro Bay, and Oxnard Shores (or, Sometimes a Great Ocean)

A short drive up the coast

            & the long walk back

(we had to confirm that the break was surfstainable)

but only during voodoo business hours

            Shadows on the water between tides

                        a pale green translucence
"It is advisable to look from the tide pool to the stars
and then back to the tide pool again."
            (John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez)

Each day is a lesson

knocking back cans of Oly & smoking

            Kool 100s w/Tippy-Toe Soul

                        out on the loading dock

to keep your blue eyes black

& your idle hands busy

            tunneling to Shangri-la

w/the seabreeze whispering like a billion dollars

in counterfeit bills

spilling from the canopy palms

Like So

“The creative person should have

no other biography than his works.”

                                        –B. Traven

My dirty eyes dusted w/sunlight

            hovering between transpacific jet lag

                        & the last recording of the Memphis Jug Band

I used to think “One day I’ll just disappear in Mexico”

until I did (as, but not like, Ambrose Bierce)

Now everything is different

The wind shufffing thru las palmas will never be the same

Something about karma & liberation

which could be better expressed by

her damp panties pulled to one side, for example

The sky is wearing a shiny blue suit in the green room

as seagulls pause in mid-air

above the waves

& all the luminous details

            like familiar faces you just can’t quite place

& never will

Probable Cause

The headline read:

More Buddhist-Catholic Voodoo, or

I Must Have Done Somebody Wrong

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No Contest

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

            I plead guilty to

            transgressions

            both real & imagined

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

                    “My how time flies!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

seems like

forever

A Crash Course in Circular Breathing

Melodic birdnotes & bedsprings

providing all the commentary required

& the doll-like way she

            sleeps in my dreams

her heart playing electric bongos you

            hold to your ear like a seashell

                        because this time you’re really listening

but then something she said

            made me feel as though I was

peering through the stained glass windows

            of a Coupe de Ville

                        parked on the bottom of the sea…

& now it’s later & I’m treading water

a shadow among the tangled seaweed swaying

& I don’t know where we’re going but 
we’ll be there any minute now

Uncut & Commercial Free

Guilt by Association

He said she said

& it all went to hell from there

Famous Last Words

“I’m sure you’re an excellent accordion player”

Show Me the Way to Go Home

1. Falling leaves & needles.

2. My voodoo doll piñata. 
3. Floating out to sea.

Auto Focus

Shrouded in a drizzle of mist

the ocean (reclining) insists

                                    SUMMERTIME BLUES

                                    (ain’t no cure, etc)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Boiling ocean poppies

on the black & blonde sand

                   Your errant passion, my autographed copy

                   of the sky over El Segundo

             ~ a light seduction ~

                                         I could swim thru all that you spill

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

pitching a fit

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

                                                           “Everything is water

                                                            if you look long enough”

                                                            (Robert Creeley)

A Man’s Got to Know His Permutations

The sky is whispering (green) & softly

dusted w/silver haze…

& so the message gets thru     encrypted     like her shoulders

which are bare white miracles darkened by the sun

            & riding the High-Stakes Bodhisattva Blue Cloud Express

            thru all that rippling concrete and asphalt

                        human forms, bird shapes, & fish shadows in

                        extraterrestial bonsai gardens planted in tide pools

                                                rocks strewn along the shore

                                                                        plus two & a half starfish…

Pelican surfing a thermal, stalls, turns, & drops (splash)

a mid-morning snack.

                        No waves. The ocean is asleep. Playing possum.

                       “I couldn’t find my sunglasses

                       & then I did.”

                                 “They were right there where the invisible

                                 skeleton hand left them.”

& so the next day…

endless failing, falling, fading                   walk around outside

in the sun under clouds      cactus, orchid, anemone     sunset/shadow

turquoise & silver (a “get-rich-quick scheme”
                               wrong from the get-go, burned in effigy, prayed to,
                               disemboweled on a stone
                               altar decorated with human teeth, pornographic
                               pictures & votive candles anxiously flickering
                               in little red glass jars
                               strumming the ribs of clouds

Lo que está en mi corazón

                     & Muddy Waters singing “Big Leg Women”

                     just to keep it honest

Polished bronze sky a dark mirror tilting into the sea

Okay, I guess, if taken in the proper dosage

(the proper dosage is always 5 times more than that which is recommended)