rosarito

and these are the days of ash. these are the days of black veils and black roses. these are the days of mourning. and i think that i was in shock at first, but when i sat down to try to write the eulogy, the shock wore off all at once. and all at once the tears issued forth. and i cried a cliche ocean to form a watery grave, and look for me tomorrow stuffed in davey jones' locker. but today i'm knee deep in this jimmy beam searching wildly for the innocence you drowned here late last night. and your murderous accomplice has left you all alone, alone to take the fall. but the fall has taken you, back to somewhere north of here. but we'll be heading south to drown in mexico real soon. and a fat little man with a pot belly and a wheelbarrow will cart us to our doom. and our two colliding oceans begin to fill the room. and the water's turbid at this depth, i'm searching for the surface to exhale what little breath that i have left. and that tattoo on your back is screaming in chinese: let me lay in rosarito and feel the ocean breeze.