the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

West Coast West Ghost

As a sun presses its yolk on the pacific pan,
The silhouetted hills roll into the haze
From tar melting and cars belting their age.
The convection oven bars glow back in radiance
And a star is shattered into a thousand candles.
I hold my ear against the cement and breath in
I hold my breath to attest the descent and leave in
Every little detail that a dreamer can handle.
A pulse that carries poison to every capillary
A heavy beat from steps of the burden that I carry.

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