my mouth hung like an overwhelmed option                        
             i swivel at the window facing
            and stay out the entire day      in this one gawked position
  amazing heat      and an ugg shy of thought                          
    withdrawn     in a mut of mental paralysis
                               by an alcoholic system
                                       on a day off

the day dunks into the eve before i shift any movement
    having sifted the ull                                       
i mix a jar of *** and orange juice
  in the open fridge door

it was early, really early on that cliff.
cool air, blue light
our new friend had to go (a busy woman in no rush).
we rolled a joint for her journey home.

our minds were cheeks flushed red and rosy but that was fading now. the sun that had risen just for us
swept slowly over the rest of this place.
began to wonder if she ever cared at all for her private audience. maybe.
but, probably not?

get in the car.
drive.
watch morning commuters swarm the PCH.
it all felt a little funny;
how this was the world, and the people here are so sad.
we giggled. a satirical sort of clarity began to settle.

this isn’t really it.
is it?
no.
maybe?
well, coffee should help.

music was still so beautiful but
now i knew that we could be the only ones hearing it this way.
i hoped that was not true.
pupils shrinking,
the world still rolling slowly but, with a sudden edge.

oh no.
i hope not.
maybe?
i turned towards the driver’s seat.
there, with thick-rimmed sunglasses,
those hands holding a freshly lit cigarette out the window,
you were; exactly the same.

I sit here and wonder if you're reading this-
If curiousity overcame you again recently, or not.
Its that time
Where im too exhausted to sleep
And all there is, is the music

And I wonder if you're reading this-
Will you have been part of this moment?
Whenever for you this moment might be.

Connected now, I feel it through-
You infinitely odd ball - creature
Thank you for all you normally do- I acknowledge it through this poem's feature:
So of my art unto,
I will become the teacher
to share with you creations new
as haines floats from the speaker.