the sun did start setting this mourning
Awake a wake tumbled in from the
gritty shores of yesterday. or next year ?
i replaced the filament but brilliant tungsten
could not rival the peculiar light
of orange beams sprinting out of sky
rubber soul hit pavement
iron from behind lazily screeched. then slammed
the gray air beckoned albeit too absent
and I felt it. the whispers of trembling Pacific
the salty residue palpable in cracked lips
the men at the gate. they couldn’t understand it so
they asked me: are your nipples hard
fuck you, i replied but gray is basically blue
and I think I remembered
because the brassy notes did fill my scorched lungs
and I saw you there on the shore. with them
Mystics Vallie-gurls Surfers Cat-walkers Sinners
Airpods Scott Sourdough Chesa Ahsha
Ventriloquists a real-estate Lord plus
other dead ones , too
the whole sage-waving orchestra. seductively naive
at first they were so . polite
a few strokes to the left please. one squeaked
can you please just give me five fucking minutes
but see that glorious wave it: wanted my body
he wanted my body. so sure i let that egyptian cotton
thread count 500 sit on my boyish breasts
head was cool too like the room it had
no floors. just stars and s cribb les on pages
but he dared tell me it was Dec 2020. even I
understand how tacky time can be
everyone stumbling around in the half light
chins lifted ever so slightly towards
the heavens? still gray. all this talk of Camus’ Plague
parchment unscratched whole peoples dis placed see
you & me were set to exchange whispers mighty
enough to tempt San Andreas, electricity . palpable
enough to implicate PG&E in the next disaster
but none of that happened so here we are a
pop-up merchant who with a sublime treasure display
as the foreground for Ronnie’s mural (power)
sees my lens he wants a snap. suspends his body dotty
behind the shutter (only he knows I’m dead)
remnants of memory at 16, Mission
the seafoam quivered. a YIMBY did actually cry — one
less avocado for you. the shore people fidgeted
with crumpled prayers from ripped pockets
a valiant effort to upcycle wrappers and scattered lint
come back! they yelled you too can eat duck confit. we shall
Upzone the pacific with a side of Crêpes Juliennes
all you need is 40 pixels for streaming live try SFGOVTV
a terry cloth mask and some much-furrowed eyebrows
they believed that water could be dug up too. that the silken
sheets could be pulled off in layers. a tissue box!
the whole performance was truly quite flattering
but who knew? slight empathy cannot unsheath
the drowned who’ve already been drowned
and as my brittle bones sunk down down down in frigid
indifference i did regret that it would necessitate a sky of gray
but the ocean gets
what the ocean wants naughty Coriolis
I have been dead since dot com. did you not
leave a voicemail? Being ohlone down here is hard
but thank god.
more room. for even more spectators.
to mock my jettisoned corpse (should it appear)
as Zillow points them towards pearly Austin
all because:
they decided that
now they miss
the color orange
