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Jamaica,
CA
Longhaired California
I watch you mindfully.
From this bar stool
plenty of sleek and
muscled men and women
scurry up to their potential.
My beer is plenty cold.
A Jamaican Xerox band fares well.
I'm in the mood to petrify the air.
I show my good side through a dimple.
The server cultivates her walk.
I appreciate this.
I have a tan, but the bar mirror
reflects darkness illustrious.
A man with yellow teeth
and a happy expression
yelps with glee.
I suppose the highway isn't too far away.
Outside, yellowed and plump women
red-faced and tan grind their bones to the hump of the moonlight.
This is the boardwalk seaside
at Mission Beach, California.
It's high tide roughly late PM.
My troubles fade like
California coastal clouds.
Desire.
Desire.
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Sunday
Allow your mind to assume some
irrelevant arbitrary course,
like a meandering snake
in search of food in
the hot summer sun.
People gather on weekends
and assume
poses they think they'd
rather pose each day.
In real terms they remain
tied to the gatepost of some
intangible dream, searching.
It’s the worst kind of circular argument.
Being alone can be a time of genius.
When you sit alone, the light from the window
settles itself just right.
You might find yourself groping in the
semi-dark wind of your mind
for the answer to a voice in your head.
This can be a time of despair and seething
mental pain, gripping you solid into a fist
of personal rage and a bad, bad spirit.
These are the moments of genius.
As you sink into your sofa,
the cars outside move like slow shadows
through the quiet room.
This is when you pull something deep
from within and weep in a frenzy.
This is when you get through.
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