August 2

    A Twist After Body Surfing

Oh boy, this beach
this beach is busy.

It’s as if someone opened a door
on dry land and every dour sod
saw the suds and buried
his sordid hours into a drawer

the stark metal orbs of their eyes
wide and squinting, rosy cheeks
bobbing amongst the bouys,
his fur-cling to evolution sopping.

Odds are, nothing here will rob
the great beast of his buffet,
and tension will bud again
in our communiques. The rub,

every summer, every sour drub,
man to man, hopes to cleanse
his heart and his ears, and so
buds here, like a grain of sand.

Oh boy, this beach,
this beach is busy.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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