Arches glow like pink history above the dark sky.
Storefronts capture silver dogs in the middle of their baying.
Under moonlight, the black swans never sleep.
Storefronts capture silver dogs in the middle of their baying.
Under moonlight, the black swans never sleep.
So the lines bristle, in aquamarine stanzas
And the chaos of shore makes scavengers of all
Who are caught in Mexico’s Howling Coyote sun
When even the palms whisper “stay away.”
And the chaos of shore makes scavengers of all
Who are caught in Mexico’s Howling Coyote sun
When even the palms whisper “stay away.”
Life here consists of a yellow rope, where on one side
White-robed martyrs sell marionettes, Christian ornaments,
Sarongs batiked with skulls, twisting fish-lure bottle openers,
On the other side the drunks, who mimic their children’s shrieks of glee,
White-robed martyrs sell marionettes, Christian ornaments,
Sarongs batiked with skulls, twisting fish-lure bottle openers,
On the other side the drunks, who mimic their children’s shrieks of glee,
Helplessly, before the sun turns the sand prints into
shadows,
The gimcracks into gold, each day, to the passing jet ski rhythm.
The joy of being lost, and floating, eventually becomes the same
As the joy of manta rays that leap in play, hovering and scudding,
The gimcracks into gold, each day, to the passing jet ski rhythm.
The joy of being lost, and floating, eventually becomes the same
As the joy of manta rays that leap in play, hovering and scudding,
And stilled by photos like the watercolors stilled Old
Mexico
Like time that moves so slowly it doesn’t move at all –
It’s safer that way, to not leave that much of ourselves behind,
Only take what we never had, that scrub of land we call identity.
Like time that moves so slowly it doesn’t move at all –
It’s safer that way, to not leave that much of ourselves behind,
Only take what we never had, that scrub of land we call identity.
The philosophers who sit around the pool, proffering their
sage
Elucidations on what is real and illusion aren’t heard
By those inside the pool, who can only detect
The raucous disruptions across its surface.
Elucidations on what is real and illusion aren’t heard
By those inside the pool, who can only detect
The raucous disruptions across its surface.
Neptune’s fishes work for Neptune, and the water that takes
you
In takes you out, in the notes of the blue trumpet
On the blue veranda, which says something of the blue breeze,
But is drowned in the incessant shishing of the sea.
In takes you out, in the notes of the blue trumpet
On the blue veranda, which says something of the blue breeze,
But is drowned in the incessant shishing of the sea.
