Tuesday, August 16, 2005


(Santa Cruz

your mountains

crumbling into the sea

your green Pacific


of a blonde I met here once

rode off on the back of a bike

clutching the ribs of an Australian

hurricane blow-out, up from Mexico

wind rip-snapping my tent

Brian to me: you should dig a trench around your tent

it's gonna rain like a mama


Brian got up to cook breakfast

two feet into boots

one found a scorpion

clouds hurtle up over us

criss-cross in layers


billows of rising heat

we can't see it

but we feel that great eye rotating


circle and fringe


all night mountain thunder crash, like cannon

flash lightning flicker-images of friends n' mountains

bottle of Jack Daniels' back n' forth

round the front porch of the yurt

big bill on his feet circling: come on! I'll wrestle ya!

stumble to bed

in morning sun

tent dry as dust


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