The Ancients

Speak in dreams.
The wind sand
makes your hair
a  bubble chamber.

The last time
we went to see
the ocean
I shook sand from my sneakers for twenty nine days.

Atomic 'doo gel.
Fine and canned.
A few puffs
of "Houqsinn's Ocean Musk"

above eye level,
walk through,
and we are ready for a night out
in the city.

Shower on Sunday.
Dunes and tall grass
behind eyelids.
Drain burbles and head hiss and loaded coffee cooling.

Wet cigarette butt circles and vanishes.

Retinas send aches pleasant in the dark.

Atomic decay of sunsets in 60 watt bath water.

The half life of memory seas.