The ocean is outside my window
and I am sitting at my writing
table, words pour out of my green
pen onto the paper.
Now water laps at my feet,
a hole in the floorboard, global
warming the cause on this chilly
A man on a strange bicycle
A child sits on the sand and
drinks his Pepsi through a straw.
The clouds whip through the sky
as if in a timelapse.
The lights in the house
grow dim and then grow bright.
My toast gets cold–still toast?
The frost melts off of the
The man proposes. The woman
accepts and they kiss.
The dog escapes off the leash.
The coconut falls off the tree.
The squirrel jumps onto the telephone
All that we learned vanished
into tiny inky blots. I am light
I think and I’m blown end over
Beginning by the light in the canyon
at dusk, on the pier at twilight,
then lighter and lighter.
There are mud coronas in my coffee, and cussing.
I’m asleep and I’m watching
myself sleep, mumbling careful words
about Bartok in the desert and
ingredients in a Basque omelette
and the droning guitar of desert
I forget if I told you this already.
I forget the capitals of all 50 states.