Thursday, November 10, 2005
Rock Dogs
Along the beach are sculpted rocks,
They're stacked like the stones of Easter Island lording over the breeze .
The breeze cools my skin and the sun turns it brown.
the cell phone ring is muffed by the crash of the ocean.
I am the momentary ugly faces when
pungent seaweed rushes in and out of my nose.
I jones for cup of coffee;
I find that yellow railroad station serving lahtees and orange cinnamon buns.
I can't shake an image as I settle in,
an image of rocks perched as a Maltese with a butch hair cut.
They're stacked like the stones of Easter Island lording over the breeze .
The breeze cools my skin and the sun turns it brown.
the cell phone ring is muffed by the crash of the ocean.
I am the momentary ugly faces when
pungent seaweed rushes in and out of my nose.
I jones for cup of coffee;
I find that yellow railroad station serving lahtees and orange cinnamon buns.
I can't shake an image as I settle in,
an image of rocks perched as a Maltese with a butch hair cut.
