Salamander

Get out of my blood salamander

I can't seem to blow off enough steam to get you out of my head

Soul cycle you to death run you out of my blood to San Pedro

And yet everywhere I go it seems there you are

And there I am

I don't want to sell my stories anymore stop pushing me

Some stories aren't meant to be sold

Some words aren't meant to be told

I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten

Or remembered should my thoughts

Come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day

Or by you some afternoon

To thumb through with your worn warm after-work hands

I love you but you don't understand me I'm a real poet

My life is my poetry my love making is my legacy

My thoughts are about nothing and beautiful and for free

You see the things that can't be bought can't be evaluated

And that makes them beyond human reach

Untouchable safe otherworldy

Unable to be deciphered or metabolized

Something metaphysical

Like a view of the sea on a summer day

On the most perfect winding road taken in from the car window

A thing perfect

And ready to become a part of the texture of

The fabric of something more ethereal

Like Mount Olympus where Zeus sent Athena

And the rest of the immortals to play