the waves of a lake hoisted spiked
into a swimmer with apocalyptic mind
who'd just jacked the soda machine,
left clothes on shore pinned
down by piles of quarters
he'd spent a month asleep
in a tent under the goldenrod
shredded underwear shielding
the sun from his face
while houses turned frail as green tents
he roved the golf course, left spunk
like silver dollars in sand pits
whose smell salted by the moon
reminded his nostrils of girls'
rearmost slits & stars, hopeless
happiness he thrashed backwards
into moss embankments his mouth
shaped like a can of beer,
and feeling like a cash register
then became a pine branch
arcing over the home
of his nemesis, the normal population.