of a shed snakeskin on a scumbled path, a first sign
I’d left behind the thick skin of civilization.
Now I find scrapped condoms and studs jacked off metal buckles.
I can’t run farther, I’ll run out of shoes and beauty.
What’s outside between the fog and my window: roof tiles guaranteed
to last a lifetime, satellite dishes that catch the incoming tide,
the snow of sand, glow of whaleskin, golden red of wildfires, fences
and figments that never wholly obscure the sun in November.
When the landscape changes, I adjust my eyesight.
If I have a dream of tomorrow, I give it up to the morning,
keep my cell phone handy, memorize the tsunami evacuation routes.
Watch out for snakes.
Readers are invited to submit their poems—no longer than 200 words in length. Submissions will be edited for spelling and punctuation only.
Please submit entries to: The Malibu Times, 3864 Las Flores Canyon Rd., Malibu, CA 90265 or by email to email@example.com.