Shadows cut across the road, under the committed shade of Guanacaste trees and clouds
a shortcut through the gables, the farmlands, the prince’s palace,
a palatial spread with dreams of girls and waves, constant, in prayer and habitual association;
keep good company my father used to say, from the deck of the Titanic, from the belly of the beast,
in action, cruising, the search, the catch, a little left hand peeler, a dash of grace.
through the dead fishing towns along the coast, the burnt jungle ravines, the desperation, the dry mouth and pitiless stomach,
the fruits of labor spent at the local discotheque
while the costs of surfboards rise steadily through out the flat flat summer months
another swell
another dollar.
the crashing sound of water in the near distance, the displacement of logic and ambition,
the cruel judgments of time, the light eating habits of strangers, the pain killer,
crushed under a ton of water, a brick wall of H2O, a mighty confession before the beach, a merchant with nothing to sell,
being a zealot on the forbidden banks of the mighty Mississippi, a zealot at the carnival Pacific Ocean entry way
mellifluous the voice of strange women and ocean monologues, the pure sacrifice in paddling,
the longest day of the year, eating peasant soup all day long.
blessed star, celebrity angel, California brooding, jungle timing, dating local, considering international exploits,
the grandest plans of me,
the height of the recession,
burn all the dollar bills, save the gold, give away the empty houses, embalm the corporate giants
she paints the picture of someone giving, charitable, with foundations and a brand of exercise for children, a brand of contemplation for adults;
hold onto this sign, it will define you,
grab onto this ledge, it will support you,
dancing dutifully along a tightrope between your hip and the rim of the Grand Canyon
above a ferocious wave peeling
above the synagogues and temples and Wal-Mart outlets
a casual strong along a thin taught line through the empty space of being
with only the sound of sand and rock and water to remain entertained
with only enough money to buy anything
with only enough worries to hold the world on my shoulders
with only enough time to do everything; unsatisfied AMERICAN BOY, detestable Roman,
angry city slicker, part time church goer, full time school boy,
learning all the tricks from an empty parking lot and a hot air saloon looking at the ocean for another lesson.
today is unlike any other.
into the valley of darkness, into the Mona Lisa’s eyes,
the legend, the shade infringes on the mortgage prices,
the market is planning to rally sometime soon.
sipping on soup, listening to Pink Floyd, the champion on an airplane, the videotape of existence.
the art of staying healthy, calling old girlfriends with nothing to say (place comment here _____________),
a long distance relationship with humanity, a close quartered affair with seeds and green leaves, grains of sand and bushels of water, napalm, tenement buildings
in the state of poverty, in the rich center of the universe.
new money comes screaming in with an idea and a backer
a prospectus and a mercenary
listening to James Brown with no shoes on
this must be the greatest poem ever
this must be mud
(a lotus flower constituency, a feral request to belong somewhere)
here is the place and now has no time left;
all applicants please proceed to window three
all surfers wait for the winds to turn back offshore;
elegant boogie woogie Sunday night
massive sets and full time forecasting for temples never visited
this maxed out headline
this IQ test in the jungle scrambling.
“clap your hands, stomp your feet, in the jungle brother, in the jungle brother.”
