most geniuses give up, the rest of us and a few brave brilliant go ahead and keep exploring the human maze. the venice canals are blue at night. the back of my ears are still covered in sand. the tide charged to shore then pulled away from my feet with suction almost disappearing into wherever. it returned over my ankles, white silt spread across the water and we threw in our bread. i chucked mine left-handed quick to rid myself of reluctance. you had your own mysteries.
then we splayed along disintegrating continent.
i wonder if the ocean finds people to be a tease, just out of reach. life, on the other hand, with hands on bodies, sensual, seductive, clasping, intent to suffocate, and then it won't let go. so to find our own element, we let go, held hands, let go, spoke, listened, atop a bed of shredded stones left soft and infinite. i kept thinking about how beautiful this all damn was and my father. my mother the blue pacific, my father the earth. and i drank the entire flask of bulleit whiskey this time, i did it myself, without my walkstreet compadre and she drank homemade lemonade with ginger and i remember that moment walking weeks before with jeff, how we knew my guy at the liquor store was right wasn't he? that tasty brew being worth the extra dollar. we were in the alley and jeff and i had that moment realizing that it was good whiskey. and a few days ago this lyft kid got into my car, shaken and wavy, claiming that he had the same condition as my father but i had told him first so wasn't sure if i believed him because he had been in my car once before and that time he had offered me up a map of a fantasy world complete with eight-foot tall invisible soldiers and fragmented landscapes. and this time we bought burger king from the drive-thru on la brea/sunset and he told me i could keep all of his ideas since he wouldn't be needing them anymore. and i wasn't sure if he was lying about his own imminent demise but i laughed a bit too hard and started hiding my tears and for instance, him and a yemeni girl had been together since middle school and shared an email account and both wrote in it, saving their love letters under drafts, because her dad was in the cia and she belonged to a different man in marriage and so then they both met up years later in a motel room and i dropped him off near apple pan and when we both shook hands we held them together in a way that felt like truth and he must have been telling me the truth and even if he was lying then it was its own form of god given truth because the moment absolutely required every ounce of attention in the air and atmosphere. and i hope that the kid goes on living and that everyone can keep their hearts and lungs and vital organs oxygenated and breathing and we must have stronger hands and arms and legs and minds and invisible superpowers than a few stupid user generated web forums would ever have us believe because its already a plain damn miracle that we're already here, that much is clear, and so i'm going to be like a fucking cartoon character or a spoonfed disney automaton and believe in miracles because they are everywhere. and then that night i walked you home.
