Topanga Love Dream
Songbirds rhumba in the monoxide night,
coughing like nails on slate.
Pneumogirls with trick knees
stick to your all alone sliding sweat,
telling tenspeed lies and
bleeding apricot chandelier tears,
breaking your borrowed bones
on the culture rack.
The church key is melting now,
right through your trembling hand.
Your dry and empty throat
craves the bloodsoaked beaches.
Your bruise burnt tongue
cannot testify to anything that happened.
Settle back into your coma comfort and
dream your solitary love.
The Brink at Logan Pond. (Lulu Press. 2005.)