Rambling Beyond the Powerlines

Because I busted my ribs I cannot let go.
Because it reminds me.
Solitude rarely gives over thoughts of the future.
 Identical days and nights
lull the trusting imagination to
plunge deep into streams of consciousness.
The past.
Watching the movie.
And my imagination has a
painful correlation
to attach to the rogue three days
beyond the power lines,
where the night sky slowly dropped her robe,
not aware of my eyes,
beautiful alone.

Nude dunes but for spots of tangled
blooming seaweed,
the bay is a vast barren rink,
flat in a way that hyperbolizes the modest hills.
Approaching darkness caresses
right angles into submission
Untouched Guitar:
wind born sand
vibrates a plaintive Japanese howl,
translating
a three week old
Cuban sneeze.
Of course you're gonna take it.
Now is not the time to explain.
Maybe they aren't chasing.
Allowing what has always been
to reveal itself as if for the first time.
Manipulating bellows and stacks.
Closing off fuel to future worries,
present concerns,
past assaults,
you and the nearly full moon
focus light on existing energy
supporting,
warning,
reminding you of the lot you drew.
Leaning into the wind,
toe-licked by sea
ankles,
thighs