The fat Mexican walks on sand carrying a black knife
his wallet is black and he wears a shirt
the sun is shining in July
spandex homeless conscience
Rice Coast denizens aboard the Hare
scars bleed the Logitech glows
field mouse chirping pineal ghetto
he sees his wife at the parking lot
spilling over like intestine smiles
keeps walking
all in with a hung hand
Custer
porn-handed whale barons
embedded dogs of humidity
obliterating bodhichitta
stealing electronics from a condominium in Tampa
his arm goes numb and he laughs
carried to Kuala Lumpur on malachite wings
you are not in trouble
no cancer in caves
shallow refuge a waste of gas
cult fuckers: it is Buddhism in New Mexico
and now he notices the glimmer of moon on wet sea
smiles and remembers
about some food in his pocket of pre-industrial farmland.