Conflict Resolution Among the Mouth Breathers

She wanted to know the preliminary 
parts of whatever
empty rules of heaven
& though I was convinced it had
more to do w/coconut milk & tequila than
the Gnostic scriptures
I just couldn't see how she could
drive that truck all the way there & back
w/a leaky head gasket & no muffler
but like cutting forever in half
w/the sky behind smoked glass
& bongo windchimes knocking in the
late afternoon seabreeze
further is just about as far as you can go

To the Gods of Medicine & Ding Repair

A flicker of wings maybe
to float the memory
she used to say it that way
on the Avenida
beneath a tropic sky
the same color as 40 links of chain
w/mudslide tremors & gaited horses
out where the coast road veers off into
Bohemian rhapsodies
& the wingless per diem
often mistaken for a synthesis of
ocean fog & Lee Marvin
that random apprehension where
sea meets sky in the pretense & the vapor
doesn't necessarily ring a bell
anywhere but here

A Twofer at the Five & Dime

Transparent reflections on the window glass
are reminders of the illusory nature of existence

A dusting of clouds in the beach sky

No one notices how the color changes but it does

Green, pink, orange & blue
which is strange for this time of year
when pearls & moths should be the prevailing hue

Other colors are playing mahjong & smoking Pall Malls

going to El Segundo, metaphorically 

Pseudo Ensenada

Had me a sky gray Chevy once
w/a backstory that would've made
Coleridge weep

That was back when I used to listen to the 
waves crash in the margins of
The Book of Songs
returning my dreams to their default settings
always careful not to spook the horses

but no more than a tablespoon
as directed
& like Ali Baba bending over backwards
on Walking Crucifixion Day
I wore my hat execution style
because some things never change

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

After you take that step
& the next
                      I mean the one after the last
bridging the gap between
what you want & what you need

highlighted on the chemical map
along w/me & you & Blind Willie McTell

I saw the reflection & heard the echo

TV babies tapping out Morse code jazz
content w/the legend of parachutes & spiritual abuse
so as to hypnotize the walking wounded

It's 10 minutes to sunset
the burnt pink & turquoise sky is
turning somersaults
& you're easily dazzled

The Name of the Rose

The wind backs down the tide
picks up & we're no different

Time spins to the ground
& yr eyes are sand formations
constantly shifting          changing color
though if the light catches them just right they
could be mirrors
suffused in restless ocean gray shadows rippling
in pale sunlight

The mockingbird sings the same song 
but in a higher register

& yr soul if it even exists
I couldn't say if any of us for certain but
something in the air anyway
besides this damp compression of tinsel mist
reaching down to rap its knuckles against the waves

or remember how someone else may have said it
& how easy it was to forget

The Last Car That Parked Here is Still Missing

Everything is tumbling past
a steel guitar I had at first thought
looked like rain

The trial of true redemption slips a little
in the Chinese transliteration
                  skimming the silver
                           torched by blossoms

         a way to compensate for those
                  seasick mermaids on horseback

not to mention Thor Heyerdahl, Sister Aimee Semple,
& Miki's lush beehive?

Your brain seems to be on an extended vacation, a sea cruise, maybe a world tour, including every empty parking lot from the Forbidden City to Tierra del Fuego.  Factor in the long way around & you just might make it back by suppertime.

What's Your Metaphor?

The wind sings Malaguena Salerosa in the cypress
like a ghost mule dragging The Cantos
70 foggy miles up the coast
                  which is Latin for "Take two aspirin
                           & call me in the morning"

A point of entry & return
minus the charm of a doubt casting its shadow upon
a working hypothesis all camera-ready like
neon scribbled into a spoonful of wet sand

but dependent upon a parallel vocabulary
& the shuffle of glass cards on the horizon
swamped out as the tide pushes in
                  tilting parking lots
                           down towards the sea

Sunbleached chrome & I told you so
wearing rose-colored goggle & a heat rash
alternate routes to the same conclusion
because it's not always merely what was said but
the shape of it that matters

The Parking Lot Sutra

The shadow of your heart
wrapped in tinfoil
discovers a new use for gravity

just a little something to set alongside the
octopus in the bathysphere

What is it divided three ways?

Leaving no doubt as to the intent
(painted green)
& reaching for frequencies beyond the pale light
just to prove that I can & do
as often as you