AwKwA Man

Frighteningly photogenic, in the dirt, under fingernails, wrinkled, up-skirt, clean shaven, sheep shorn, clap trap, howlin’ wolf mystery blues…screamin’ J truck stop anthem, somethin’ ‘bout , “I was born without you, baby but my feelings were a little bit too strong” and all along I have been pretending that the flowing sounds of the Seoul whooshing-pollution, vortex traffic is really the tidal purificación San Diego ocean beaches, water, wave-pounding shoreline ever stretching out to the ends of my mirth. What lies beyond the blunder dome?

Every dog needs a home-brew tincture remedy distilled from the ingredients of its roots and subsequent globe sodding, maneuvers itself into position, squats in the city plazas, shitty squares, broken cornerstones, token beliefs running liquid.

Wicked bullet finds its mark. 

Rube, the patsy, just bluff tough enough in tooth-worn confidence game spouting carnie barker, binding to bilious foam insulation, mad dog, too dark park, clouded 20/20 vision, oh so nearly impossible to see right through these foul fears of our fnords. 

Go scraping crystal canyons in awkward silence for the glittering gold, foolishly fumbling with the keys to find the field; perfected embrace. Electron circles nucleus. Be bolder. Spurred into action by the photo fading, the paint chipping, offspring eclipse, the cowboy wells up, digging no further than his backyard barbeque, punching his stomach, govereeting up his droogs, and sexting his attorney. 

The sordid, sun-burned past is permanently seared into his memory and fossilized there; taking karma payments in perpetuity.

Pirate name?

Red-Blood ‘The Weary’. 

Ship name?

The Fall of Rome. 

Lesson learned?      

Not a chance.