Poetry

Poetry – Venice, CA 90291

Venice, CA 90291

The sun burns
more than the surface.

Layers of dried skin:
a landscape of a dozen
decades of decadence
crumpling like an old
child into un-
original positions.

Heart problems we have and
hereditary memories
of torchlight reflected
off water
in the canals.

So many centers
(in this prodigal sister
city) of re
creation being sterilized

by boards by boards
of directors of circuitry

That nostalgia is always
half cancer in the bones
and half
a home that has never been
a house; we forget.

I have only been here
for so long; a short life
seems long to me. But I remember

the birth of tent city
and a time before

the boardwalk was reduced
to screen segments. I think I remember

the light used to be
a different color than
colorless.

But one leaf clings still:

There is
no police
force; no real
estate developer; no software
company; no binding
legislation that can keep
our manifest memories
at bay

our vibrant vagrants
our eternally settled and sanded wanderer
our indelible rust
will always give our transplants our eternally wandering and wanting tourist
our techies

more than they ask for.

There is no rising tide
that can pull this pier
from its ghostly roots.

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Categories: Poetry

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