That the sunset
sky is soaked in
gasoline speaks
for itself
like a mirror
smeared w/lipstick
You might want
to ask what it means but
that’s the wrong
question the
notion of anything
having a “meaning”
is a short,
dead-end street w/no
interesting
scenery at all
I am more
inclined toward
listening to bubbles
in the water
conversing
quite possibly in Sanskrit
That all this
could resemble the bent
fender of a
stolen Chevy Malibu is
coincidental
like my hand beneath your skirt
driven off a
cliff just a few miles south of here
where together
we can watch the sunset
which I think
you’ll agree
looks like a
tangle of bright cold flames
hidden beneath a
rock
on the bottom of
the sea
