The seabreeze
played clawhammer banjo in the rain.
I was hoping you
hadn’t noticed. Seagulls. Clawhammer. Wind.
Banjos in the
rain.
Maybe you know
what I mean. Maybe you’ve been there.
Playing
Parmenides to my Heraclitus. A not quite
harmonic
convergence.
Secrets buried
beneath the waves. From Point Dume to
Rincon.
Seagulls cutting
through the early morning mist. Sand
scratching the
bottom of the bowl.
I saw lights on
the water like neon trembling that night
in Chapultepec. I didn’t want to know what it meant.
Octavio Paz vs. Fu
Manchu.
The tide comes
in & swamps out the surf. Drinks
were served
out on the
veranda. I preferred the rainpuddles
in the parking
lot.
Chinese
checkers. Correspondence. Empty mind meets empty sky.
The source code
of a generation.
