Along a winding path
Paved sun-glazed cement
Baked with a hazy grey sealant
With summer shoes
Raking the rocks
Along the freckled
Grass
Sunscreen scented fragrances
Illuminating hiatus
Under the strung out
Santa Monica Sun
Braided greens
On the west end
Seems
Over to top
Beside the ocean
Good times
Signed rhymes
Of uncharacteristic hue
What holds me down
Pushes me up too
Coffee afternoon
From a day well on
It’s way
Through the orange
Lights of morning
On the 405
Driving
The drive
Wake up the senses
Into the day
Liquid snakes
In the deep grass
Beyond the light
And just past
Where the shadows
Fall
From the tall pines
Near the woods
Nearly all the time
A fence runs along
The seems of a property
Judicious in its connecting pieces
Separating the easements
All fences have the imperfection
Of construction
And deterioration
A fence from the ground
To the sky
The coordinated volcano
Knows when to blow the steam
When to burn the smoke
When to break at the seems
It can shut its leaks
And wait for the weak
When the coordinated volcano
Blows
Onion opinions
The popular trend
Begin again and again
With the same refrain
Said for days
A lazy sleep
Will wish me away
From the stinky options
Of spoiled onion breathe
Upon a delicate day
Casts shadows of death
Nasty conscience
In an empty space
Leave out the words
That gets forgotten
Just in case
Reign size
Is all a matter of perspective
If it does not affect me
Why should I be reflective
On a reign that is less of me
But highly offensive
