Te Queen of Venice Beach

Some late blooming occurred in the seventies when 'Hey Jude' and the sunshine in her head went public. She settled into a craft shop, gently molested by Applejack and Californian Skunk until a self-image exploded. An aftershock of rainbows continued. Ruckle lips roam now a manic makeup. Gainsborough hats trump a woozy kablooey. On the boardwalk; she stands palimpsest, a fragmented journalism of more colorful times. She turns to her subjects, smiles, not for the camera, but at the one thing that detonated her back when she was just a girl with looking-glass eyes.