December 9 by The Running Son
♈ 2 second warning..♈
Ahh, how we relaxed,
how we sip-sipped the easy jazz,
clinked lips, tipped glasses, balancing
a delicate happiness rocking top-heavy
somewhere off the Catalina shelf,
drunk in pacific breeze Promenade wealth,
to Health!, or hell in a green Schnapps brain-fizz
pop!* as sea-foam scenes rise and vault
and land plates upend, and topple before us
snapping, veins dangling, great crusts
angling belly up, all dirt unders and tangled
earth-trunks crumbling to plumes of hazel dust.
So to engage Saint Andreas
in competition to claim this displaced real estate!
Angelic land trusts for the taking:
in slight rotation maybe, some damage, sure.
But movement’s the new retro-fit
for this apocalyptic new age polar shift, this craze.
Monuments tall as God to be made?
Monumental waves (the curl of lips) too often see fit
to give swift chase.
But heyyy. Sip-sip we got this aced.
by Jim Aldrich
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.