04-05-2026, 02:42 PM
Acapulco
Here was another giant: a cruel frame
of bulging forehead, crooked eyes, and lips
perennially drooling, yet housing a tender soul.
Often he sat on the shore, dreaming of boats
that came in from the ocean laden with riches
his vision could only sketch, could only shape
and color as fuzzy forms, as mere abstractions,
for which he would offer the singular treasure he thought
he had in hoards: silver and precious stones.
Often was monthly turned weekly turned daily turned hourly
turned every waking minute he'd rather spend
by the sea---he no longer slept---he was the shore,
his friends found moss and ferns and grass on his back
give way to shrubs and trees, the bones exposed
as an incoherent scaffold of white sand,
until all that was left of himself was his mad dream.
Here was another giant: a cruel frame
of bulging forehead, crooked eyes, and lips
perennially drooling, yet housing a tender soul.
Often he sat on the shore, dreaming of boats
that came in from the ocean laden with riches
his vision could only sketch, could only shape
and color as fuzzy forms, as mere abstractions,
for which he would offer the singular treasure he thought
he had in hoards: silver and precious stones.
Often was monthly turned weekly turned daily turned hourly
turned every waking minute he'd rather spend
by the sea---he no longer slept---he was the shore,
his friends found moss and ferns and grass on his back
give way to shrubs and trees, the bones exposed
as an incoherent scaffold of white sand,
until all that was left of himself was his mad dream.