constant

The Pacific Ocean apes the face of the moon
in size unfathomable to minds as mine
likewise effect which upon time untold
unites the men and women in kind.
Through we, the people, the city, the ghosts,
our bloodshed, orgasms, soft drinks
and me, through us all
the moon is constant, remaining
subject for world’s people to gaze
necks bent longingly skyward,
and so has the ocean
lapping at our toes.

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arriving at the rainbow gathering

nearing the beach at Sombreo for the first time
lit on magic mushrooms, the hour approaches dawn-break
my Quebecois companion leads the way in the quiet twilight
we stumble through the dark forest trail
trees enormous like in fairy tales
mystic purple fog drifting in from the ocean
we near the tree-line
sound of waves crashing on sand swell
finally, the forest ends
we stop in our tracks, beholding
bewildered eyes take in the grey beach
glowing in the light of a three-quarter moon
stretching for miles in either direction
deposits of thick driftwood lay here and there
people asleep in makeshift shelters, tents and lean-tos
silent save the waves’ steady roar
the ocean is infinity incarnate
epitome of both serenity and violence, it pounds the shore
we stand there between the wide expanse of sea
and the mythical giant forest behind
underneath that huge sky full of glowing stars
feeling like another grain of sand on the beach
my companion, he points at the sky
after we spend an hour sitting in silence
he regards the moon who is his mistress, his girlfriend
he tells me
a bit of cloud veils her lovely face
and with a rubbing of his thumb
he unmasks her
and she shines down in full strength again
until she goes to sleep
and so do we
tomorrow we’ll dig a bed
and build a fire