Purple Shearling

Bali Hai: The profile of a queen, I admire you
as the mist drops down hovering
around your ears–a fallen crown.

I see no one from the sides of my eyes
just you, as the ocean folds around
my waist–a perfect lapping sound, a storm
is coming by, but never a sound just warm
drops pepper me salty. I look down through
the water watching for rocks sprawled dark
shapes sleeping turtles and zebra fish dart
by ankles unaware I am of just how much is
beyond me and so deep below me–the power pulls
me off guard a little bit further into your lair of white
caps I spot the roosters goosing through the sand–
my granny’s patchwork quilt on his side a piece
of driftwood napping for shiny black crabs.

The breeze glazes my burned, freckled skin:
I crouch down to crab my way along the water’s edge.

Regulars hunker on their stools
with glassy stares and red wine
nursing cigarette burns and bloodshot
contacts on eyes that don’t know sleep.

The hula begins in the corner.
A woman shifts on her perch holding
ice on the man’s hand smoking from
her other, someone passes around
corn chips and guacamole and a half-eaten
pizza no one wants anymore.

The bartender pours her potions in
high layers for honeymooners.
An old couple giggles. The man
with the cigarette burn slowly dances
his hands in the air:
a smokey swan singing softly to himself.

Warm rain is driving down now
in salty sheets, yet somehow
torches flame along sideways
jabbing the wind
flickering our thirst.

Thinking drives you into the ground
straight down spiraling thoughts–
tricks sticking in your head
little words little worries
harrass and whip my head until
its numb–drink tea and see
colors sing songs to tame
the bobwire fence in my head.

Thoughts help you, hurt you
dignify you–layers of thoughts
tricking me, need to breathe
and kick them out of the way.

There’s no more room for my thoughts
just panicked work-stricken thoughts foam
around my head and ears my head aches
from thoughts dark stones jumbling,
bouncing and hitting against one another.

Where are the sea green polished
glass thoughts that let light through?
Heavy solid circles.

Thinking can wreck you, control
the thinking–it can empower or debilitate
you. A canon of thoughts booming in my sleep–
I toss and turn, wrapping myself around each thought.

Where is the peaceful sleep that pads my head in gauzy slumber?

Where is the intelligent thinking–the challenge, deciphering a code,
the philosopher’s thought?

The rat only thinks about turning
the wheel to get the cheese.
More wheel–more cheese.
A wheel of cheese. Can I pick
which kind? Perhaps camembert
or brie or a nice smoked gouda
to bury my head–letting the soft,
cool weight push me down onto the ground.

You are not around to smell
the pork on the fire deep
in the ground there is a hush
I know that swallows me and I
cannot swallow when I think
of you gone and resting now –
to feel the pitch darkness
my stomach swims in I don’t
want you back you got away
flying–the brush of light
in the corner of my eye
a butterfly I catch a glimpse
around the corner nothing heavy
to sit on your shoulders ever again.

It is the 4th of July
and the flags are dancing
soon the sparks will crush
open the night sky blooming
to dangle into thin diamonds.

God I know you are one of those
sunbursts blasted into the night
I prefer to think of you that way:
so free and finally independent.

Somehow I’ve hung on
My hands sweating on the monkey bars
Dangling on like the weakest charm

If my face hits the dirt will I
Breathe in and know its worth?
Right now my bones are white
Holding on to my dear life
And if I swing my body forward I
Only hope my mind will follow.

Somehow I’ve hung on
My hands sweating on the monkey bars
Flecks of rust stain my palms

If I keep swinging I’ll move on
I can see the other end
But I can’t forget where I’ve been
At times I think I’m giving out
On the drop of fear and doubt

You cheer me on to get across
Hanging here I’m at a loss
The sun is sinking in the trees
We take for granted times like these.