Men-Do-Ci-No. Men do. See? No. Do you see behind the Redwood Curtain? No.
Neoprene brand boots. Camo surplus. Guns and brass nuggets. Redneck + dreadlocks = dreadneck. Peace, love and fuck off. It’s the wild west 2017. There’s another gold rush in California, selling scis- sors. The corporations are coming and the emerald farmer won’t go down without a fight. Safety in the hills. This is the Emerald Triangle and it isn’t a Bejewelled copycat from Silicon Valley. The golden wealth is tangible. Bitcoin accepted.
The sun crests the ridge... At night thick, roiling tendrils of a mirthless fog creep ashore. Trees, cars and houses are absorbed and disappear.
This town is a ghost town. The unwavering rumble of waves, the chirpchirpcheepcheep of bird blather.
I keep seeing mold when I close my eyes. I want to trim trees and kitten’s ears.
In the morning the fog will be gone but so too will be a great, shambling old Victorian town house or an abandoned car, rusted to its core or maybe even a tree, its limbs gnarled and contorted like grand- ma’s fingers at prayer.