Kokomo, of musical fame, does not exist.
Bombay Beach is real.
Marked upon a map,
Beside a sea of salt,
The binocular symbol
beckons,
As a beacon unto
travelers,
About the place to
see,
Along this desert
sea.
A colorful sign
presents,
As you take your turn
to tell,
And telling signs in
the distance,
Show pictures of the
past,
Abandoned boarded
homes,
With cars parked
anew.
You find a place to
enter there,
Quietly exiting your
car,
Entering reluctant
into the heat,
On a white beach of
sand,
A sand that crunches
strangely,
The way that snow
does not.
In the distance over
the waters,
The very still waters
reflecting,
The sounds of birds
deflecting,
Calling out with whispered
voices,
“Aaaayyeeee!”
“Aaayyeeee!”
And now the gazes
appear,
The strange gazes of
the silent,
Looking at you
without blinking,
Looking at you in the
heat,
Staring at you in
your heartbeat,
While they do not
even sweat.
As fear creeps inside
you,
With a quiet stilling
of the heart,
You run towards the
storefront abandoned,
Trying the locked
door before you,
Seeing nothing but
darkness within,
As something is
banging to get out.
Back to the
beachfront you run,
For a clear safe
vision around you,
Then noticing the
faces in white,
Amidst the tiny bones
of sand,
Eyeless and withered
mouths open,
As their voices
whisper, “Staaayyyee…”
Grasping the map from
your pocket,
To see where indeed
you have come,
The binocular marked
scenic view,
With both circles now
U’s turned over,
Now clearly marks
“Silenced View”,
As the sun’s rays
weaken your stance.
The silent strangers
observe you,
Never blinking as the
sun whitens,
While their baby in
bassinet brightens,
Slowly turning in
steady stare,
Smile slowly
spreading on his lips,
As the sun bleaches
out your view.
As the brightness
fades back to vision,
You have a clear
vision of the sea,
Clearly seeing your
rust eaten car,
As you are standing
as one with the strangers,
While the sun sets
into still waters,
With the sea rising
over your smile.
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