out of old yard stick rulers,
and sneak onto the beach
just to get a haircut.
When the rain comes,
where do the bugs go?
They all can't hide
under leaves or shovels.
Maria shaves in the car,
while smoking her drug of the day,
shaking her head,
saying tomorrow, always tomorrow.
I see her drive by,
I watch the ants hide,
why can't I kill the surprise
of everything dying.
The shelf won't hold
all the old books,
and the beach is barricaded
until further notice.
But from whom.
and at what time
on October will we remember
certain birthdays and open up the curtains?
Too many questions
for this street,
the summer is giving off
popwar heat.
I guess I'll go to Colorado,
cover my face,
smoke my drug of the day,
text Maria and ask if she is okay.