small brown and wrinkled
dry and slightly hairy thing
seems like one would surely choke
if ever one could swallow
and so we wind up winding
careening and turning tightly on
a black-top single digit highway
in bright red insectoid machines
I am driving
and the sea below is tossing
over rocks and sand and abalone
the road slices through fragile rock
seeking a time to be released
I flirt with treacherous fogs
I raise my shoulders slightly
to protect us from the fear
we shiver and are afraid to laugh
next to me sits my trusty friend
the dark and haunted violinist
I don’t remember meeting him
he was standing in the hot road
his dark beard comforts me now
he is my shy and diminutive brother
he seems very sad and concerned
I call him my furious worrier
I am driving
with the german feline in the back
and next to her some burly guy
and barely twixt their tightened thighs
the deft magician who brought us here
we met the magus strategically
camped out by the twisting black oaks
I made him an egg in the middle
and he gave me stranger food for sup
they locked the gates at two a.m.
but not before the time they let us in
and there in that hot dark pool of babel
we spoke naked and in ancient tongues
I am driving
and as I am reversing our course
I call out to that compound by the sea
we flirt with these tonight my friend
we flirt with the ghouls of esalen
I want to ruffle his curly head
but he is tired
and sulking