changing desert

3 04 2009

This is one of those that come to you, borne on the wind and the relief of the weekend:

The sky was the sea today,
clouds blown over it like waves –
streaks of impermanence,
of movement.

Palm fronds rustled
turned the wind’s song
into water upon a shore.

The breeze blew
through my empty
parking garage,
made the four stories sing
like the ocean’s memory
through the shell of a conch.

I got in my little purple car
and paddled it
on waterways
to my island home.

much preferrable to the ones you have to squeeze out like a stringy turd




One response

4 04 2009

The last line!!!!
LMAO…But so true, great piece, as usual…

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