calling the beats
calling the sea-roughed wannabe sailor-types

calling the ham radio in your head
calling the used binoculars and the clear sky of a warm night’s impulse

calling down through this
anthropological migration pattern
for
the trading card
charm
of
new kinds of
Fake.

it’s beach day for the //bad.guys
you.          better
catch the shoreline before it’s sold away

feel feel think
feel feel bite

still _courses
//through we,the wet.
[though dry curses be cast upon us now]

/




rays.thatbetray
the intentionality of
our days and all the tasks assigned therein

20 seconds of alarm.

it’s calling for the tepid disquiet of assimilation

it’s calling for pretenders to assemble in
the shadow of new thrones

it’s calling us by our names

in the language of it’s immeasurable, mylar breath

everlasting.the
wellknown mystery at the
door

again

the harm storm of california
and the titanium world is
beautiful

smiling back at you
with those tinted, 2-car garage eyes

and a view of
eternity, so long as you don’t
check
back later.


for those not yet gone numb
where the market demands it,
life is
__

for
when it counts :

a
boy with one palm pressed up against the corner of each pew
kicking up into the
air,
flying for a fraction of a second _
looking down the aisle
and worrying
that he won’t know what to do with his hands when he gets to the
end

a
world made out of
itself ,
alone .