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Wednesday, January 10, 2018
log ride (1990)
be careless in plotting one's accidents,
hold momentless against the rim
of lip's mind
only long enough to taste
the lone star there,
then allow flight towards the scene
of early california's life
guard post overlooking pacific suck
and swell as megan and bob
turn eyes with whitecap rise
against darkness sounding health;
she's checking sand for sea lice
who shuffle to escape
openness revealed less truth than one
white-washed overexposed space of play
in a surf where youth flexes
skinned-knee immortality over a zenith
speckle pinpointing the happenings
of the santa cruz boardwalk
abuzz with dreamstate families gnawing
wandering mom knees into broken clutches
limping lives over orphan arcades
plugged by heroin's dentist
who preaches caramel of normalcy
to fly to holiday islands on resulting profits
of last year discounts
sporting white-gloved hands
withdrawn since need incurred
impression of awakening not to morning
subtle pleasures but revelation
of ride's transfer: on the climb
up the ramp splendid view
of an ocean churning violet waves
as the hollow plastic log
grinds up time's saw
and descent sprays the face with incense,
every day's design
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