The Sand Dunes

  The alarm sounds just after you wake up. The sun isn't up yet, and red numbers glow digital in the darkness. After turning on a few lights, getting dressed, and filling a thermos with coffee, you walk out the door, get into the truck, and turn the key.   The engine is loud, and mixes with the road noise, as the truck slowly warms up. And it smells like vinyl, and motor oil.   The sky begins to brighten; we stop, and exchange a few words, and make our way out to the beach. It's too loud to comfortably talk, so we keep quiet in the machine noise.   Pulling over on the hard sand, we wave to the man in the tower, and listen to the radio while we wait. After a few minutes, we let some air out of the tires, and lock the hubs   -and go.

  The soft sand is thick under the tires, and as the truck turns out-onto the beach, the steering starts to come under control, and we move out toward the waves.   The beach changes every day, and you feel the sand, and the truck, where the shoreline slips under the water's edge, and the ocean meets the sky—turning the wheel, accelerating, pushing, and pulling, gliding, and bouncing over the ripples, rising up on flat, hard expanses—windswept, and rounded—drawing us down to curves and drifts, squeezed together, warm, and moving, man, and machine.   We grind gears, and move wheels, and tires, pistons, and burning oil, and gasoline—carrying hard chunks of metal, men, and lunch, to labor, and erect frames, which become protective spaces, unfinished, and crafted with gypsum dust, and wooden moulding.

  The men who drove trucks, out on the beach, worked out on the beach. They didn't like each other. They didn't respect each other   -and they were in a rush.

  So, when the trucks left the road, and drove out over the sand, the bay would freeze over, and boats which ordinarily carried men, and supplies to Fire Island, would float in boathouses, and sit idle, on jacks, and scaffolding until the weather warmed enough to make the trip across the bay, to the beach which segregated it from the open ocean.   When the bay froze, lines of trucks would take shape on the oceanside, with hard men watching the ebb and flow of the tide, as sets of waves blew in, washing up on frozen expanses of sand formations, obscuring them as they flooded the beach, and washing over the high dunes, which separated the oceanside from the protected part of the island.

   The cold and wind blew across the beach, over the long line of steel truck bodies, rust-eroded by exposure to sun, and sand, and wet salt—over hot engines, and surly, impatient, working men.   Thus, and there, it was, and is, that men wait, in trucks, on the beach.   They are waiting for the waves to pull back from the sand dunes, and allow them to reach an abandoned beach town, cut off from the mainland by a frozen bay, and obscured from view by distance, scrub pines, and policy.   It is a still, quiet place, given life by the scream and hum of motors, housed in tools held in beaten hands, and persuaded to cut, and pound materials into buildings, crafting a town—a home away for the wealthy with time to escape the city, for various diversions, and hopeful perversions, when the weather warms.

  Half buried dune fence, sticks and wire, stand out from the dunes aside beach grass, and spotted deer, plover, and snowy owls.   Seafoam cascades across the white, and purple stained sand dunes, light tan, and grey in the stormy winter cold.

  ”Look at this asshole, what the fuck is this dumb motherfucker waiting for? Get the fuck out of the way you candy-ass pussy! Fuck this, we're going around.”   ”Looks like Tommy's going for it. Stupid. He's probably not going to make it.”

  Down, and around the lead driver, Tommy moves out ahead, and pushes the truck up the steep side of the high dune. Driving just a little too fast, the truck blows some extra sand out, under the tires, and sinks slightly, as he ascends.   The ebb between waves is short, and the first wave only runs a little under the fat truck tires, while Tommy steadies the machine, and turns a little down toward the ocean, to make the truck run parallel with the tide.   The next wave comes in stronger. Tommy is high up on the dune now, truck tilting toward the waves, hot, dry air blowing from the heater, a couple of hot, sweaty men pressed up against him, pressed up against the door, nothing but water through the drivers side window, balls up, and his heart sinks, and shame begin to drape over him.   Features drawn, perhaps he glanced at one of the mirrors before the truck begins to sink.

  ”Not lookin' too good.”   ”Yeah, I don't think he's gonna make it.”   ”He's startin' ta sink.”   ”Ya think he'll roll over?”   ”Yeah, that would be funny.”   ”Somebody's gonna have to go save his ass. There's no way anybody's gonna be able to pull him outta there.”   ”Yeah, he's fucked.”   ”Unfortunately, we're fucked too, 'cause there's no way we're gonna get around this guy.”   ”Well, you want to get out and watch while we wait, or you wanna stay in and look for a chance to get over him.”   ”Might as well get out. Looks like it's gonna be a while. The tide's moving out anyway.”   ”He's in deep now. Say goodbye to your truck Tommy.”   ”You wanna give him a ride?”   ”Nah, he'll get in with Oscar Valey.”   ”This shit's gonna slow us down.”   ”Man, he'd better get out of there, it's goin' in deep. Well, at least it's movin' in the right direction.”   ”Alright, lets go help him get his tools out of there while we watch his truck get pulled out to sea.”   ”Hmf.”   ”Not lookin' too good there, Tommy.”   ”No, fuckin truck's a piece of shit!”   ”Right..”

  And the waves keep on coming up the dunes, while we watch Tommy's truck sink, more quickly than you might think, into the ocean, and float away, all the way back, across the Atlantic, up the Gulf Stream, back to Ireland for a pint, a wink, a handshake, a grin, and a 'fuck you very much' Tommy.   And the days go by—the dirty jokes, and derision, and the tides fall and rise, and the seasons pass, one after another, and the sun rises and falls, and the trucks drive up, and down, over the dunes, and through the water, and men pound nails into wood, and fight, in the cold, Fire Island winters, with the deer, and the Snowy Owls, riding in broken trucks, at the beach.


Kisses for you, my dear. I refocus my eyes, sink deeper into the serenity. I take you by the hand, open into your rainbow.

And, watching from across the room. Standing, shivering slightly.

I watch

Stripping yourself of garments and fear. Standing, still and powerful. You bend, and the light flickers. Blowing gently at the flame.

And coaxing me now, You draw me across the room With a glance. You pull me through endless tracts of space. You let me touch you Kissing you slowly. You take my hand. You radiate the moonlight You work as the moon tugs at the sea.

I melt into you As you are the blood within my veins. You become part of me, as I of you.

Almost Memory

I’m living out a dream, a dream of lost memories a remnant of a dream I've done this before It has all happened before but I don't know what's coming How did I get here? of knowing it as it happens Everything I touch and every move I make is but a remnant

Another person's life Soothe the aching mind This place is but a replica Narrow rivers flow through gentle spaces and time moves around us in shallow sighs and cool gyrations

This place is of the past and I can’t seem to remember what I’m going to do next


As I wade though the thick, mist filled forest, I feel warm and light headed I come to the edge, and lean against my arm, and hand, heavy-upon an enormous black tree I part the foggy, translucent, wet leaves, Slowly.. opening up into a great, boundless expanse Water running around the trees, and over my feet, down, down across the lazy currents of air.. ..and someone grasps the back of my hand Her soft, cool touch gently sways my view, into her clear, blue eyes She raises her hand, and sweeps the back of it across my brow, pushing back my hair as she comes to rest her hand upon my head My hands fall slowly down around the small of her back ..and she falls, weightless against me while I slowly breathe her in


the sea set ablaze i hover through the dark shimmering clouds and fall into a nearby star

A Walk on the Cool Beach

We walk, naked across the beach The air is cold The wind blows, and we tremble We look out over the black waves moonlight glistening in soft reflections across the crests of roaming tremors I look into her eyes, and she speaks silently I run my hand through her bright, flowing hair pull her toward me, and we kiss and as we draw apart, she smiles, and we laugh a little She pulls me back, and we embrace I hold her at my hip, and we watch the floating moon and we walk We hold hands, and bump against one another Warmth gently flows between us Cold as we come apart The waves tumble towards the coast, and crash lightly upon the shore I leave her gentle grasp, and crouch down before the sea I toss the salt water on my face, and rub it in my hair Water drips down from my hands and face, as it washes over my feet so cold And I look over to see her laying on that cold sand, watching me and she smiles invitingly, lovingly so I slowly arise, and walk toward her I lay next to her and I sweep my hand across her soft belly I lean toward her She smells sweetly of lilac, and raspberries We kiss and she pulls me close

Set Fire to the Moonlight

20 miles high stars crash into the sky 2 tons of fright set fire to the night

Locomotive electrifier Strike lightning fire Entrenched within a light storm Electro-charge diphasic night form

While gentle eyes count time The echoes dance a kindly rhyme

In whispering wild grass valleys Run summer soaked moonbeam children

Out in the night by firelight

Gentle Sentiments

my thoughts and gentle sentiments reflected in her deep wandering gaze and she touches her face, lightly and runs her fingers through her hair and with a sigh, rises from rest she walks and I think away but as she brushes past whispers to me I love you

Sunshine Children

we the children walk through warm southern forest flowers and sunshine rivers and fun

we chance to find a bozo dash and find the road draw him in and break the ghost to ground

we drive up on ahead and he follows close behind the small ones up through the window one by one and through the little girl last, the heaviest

and the rest run down the tunnel bright lit by firefly light, out to the field of ocher grass and marigold sunlit light

shining through dreamy eyeglass eyes in waves of floating streaks of rainbow


so young, and strange across the cool autumn sand we blow across and out above the waves and drift out across the sea and beneath the setting sun the waves reach out toward the land and we watch as it slowly falls away searching and sleeping