TSUNAMI

 

this planet is populated with people who call themselves poets
and none of them i am certain want to read another squirting poem
by a texan crone who doesn't know billy collins from gary snyder
so this is for us and any future angelic retards who delight in the ineffable
and awkward attempts to spray paint the numinous all over american asphalt
look over here come see come see david + misti = fucking and besos and magic
until the last wave crashes the last beach blanket bingo fiesta

donde esta su corazon? mine is wherever i am and when i am with my man
it's aglow with a million ponyfish and "rockin' back inside my heart" burns on the jukebox
our fuckscape is cool cerulean and hot pink and i don't think there's room for anyone but us
in this super secret pirate cove decorated with the skulls of our enemies and tiger beat posters

it's wet it's wild it's unlikely bottles of champagne will pop no toast will be made
but i know the stinging secrets of saturn and the promises of pluto
goddamn it feels good to be a gangsta
holding back and doing without having none conserving saving building and then
the glittering crashing fury of a wave train coming coming coming 
and nothing and no one not even the monkey god of the coconut palm
can stop it