Punch You In The Face Book

 

people who used to write poems,

people who used to write code,

 

on the left hand the lake

an only order of open heliosphere

 

We built a good raft for the return to no commerce,

a redwood, cypress, oak and rhone.

 

In the strip mall the Indian grocery is a spice cloud

spilling over its address.

We're inhaling aspirations, exhaling back to our cars.

I plan to stop whining about the brutal mountain sun.

 

Eventually, even the mountain.

 

a friend sent a solar powered prism

so now when the sun hits,

rainbow chevrons arc around the kitchen

slowly touching all the cabinets and edges.

They look like my blind cousin walking into a new room

picking up coordinates with his fingertips.