The steam-driven calliope churning
underwater.
Bells in the kelp grove.
A slab of concrete rotting on the
beach.
I’ve got a hymnal full of the
stuff.
All tricked out & rationalized
like a full-metal bikini swamp anchored
to the reef
slowly
swaying like a grass skirt beneath the waves
with
hand-carved flames
as
a classical rendition of the same war of attrition
ripples the mainline stem
to float the
memory
of bended knees
& cracked radiator hoses
on the rusty side of the cypress
grove
where the tide plays Topsy
on a drainpipe
which is never
enough it seems nothing ever really is
you had to be
there
from
the froth of Ocean crossing
to layered
transparencies in the book of the evening sky
& I suppose
the appropriate body art
which highlights
the memorial slideshow
that begins
& ends
right here
