Outside her window is ocean and road.
She wants both.
“Torch the damn place,” she said.
So it fell,
And it goes.

Pint of whisky is just.
And Maya’s concerns creep through.
Each pore, each vein
Is stuck singing, repeating.
It’s falling into pattern of parrot.
It is downfall, like swallowing yourself whole.

Sit in the sun,
listen to your sounds-- snuck smooth in my ears,
remind me of unweighed complications.
It’s that snap and pull
until I must deal with both
your heart as good
and your mind as evil.