San Andreas

                                         The faint and dusty shore,... spread out into the horizon,...the dismal regions of the westcoast,...lines and fingerprints imbedded marks,..... in mountains of sand and mud,..as an angry cry from the vicious seagulls above,....fishermen make a living measuring the tide of the village seaside communities,..Pedro and his foreign souvenirs,...a caleidoscope that spills out beyond the barometer of justification,..bare feet as the waves crash like thunder in between the Pacific fault line of San Andreas,...
                                 Through the bay window,... the black eyes of a mermaid drowning through the ivory crest of the surf,...skin deep he was recalling her futility,..her final year upon the valley of the sun,..that beat it's sharp pangs into the soil with a thud,..then rising and ascending like an angel up into mirage of the unpredictable heavens,...her beauty thin and sordid,..but solid,...it's foundation,..valuable to the captain of earth. With his eyes bleary and drunken with bewilderment,..as wanting things to unfold like the fables of his anscestry. Her name was Gloria,...she was fabricated in this impoverished landscape then would diminish and disintegrate into tiny fragmented pieces as the seashells rest idly in the sultry soil.
                                      Pedro walked in the early awakening of dawn,..in the pale morning,. where the ocean compromises the sandy beach......just the steady tuning of voices in preparation of the days laborious endeavors,...and the remote nostalgia of Gloria,...in her vulnerability and her earthlike wisdom.