venice beach tears,
sandy burials and streetvendor
vultures. kissing cliffs on
pacific coast highway. the
mountains are almost european,
like me. hollywood stars
are buried in the ground and
outnumber the ones you can see
in the sky. i like this, touching
heaven with my own flesh & blood,
my own two feet banned from
church altars with the threat of
eternal flame but now right here,
right in the whitehot center of
everything.
and me, thinking i've seen it all.
and me, ready to jump from roofs,
from jagged rock, ready to become
crystal and grain, sand to fall
through fingertips and coagulate
with water, dripping thick decorations
onto fancy sandcastles. it'll all
cake back together,
poured concrete, beach waste,
eroding stone. you know the
stars can only see our feet,
covered, misshapen.
our beloved celestial cement
is left tragically unimpacted
by the neon weight of everything,
and i wonder why
no God has looked me in the
eye except in dreams.