The remedial breeze
shuffling thru the gate like the Perfect Stranger
A probable wavescape perceived
tho we lack the pragma of diagnostics
preferring the simple relays of the short con
Roaring water roaring
in my head
leftover
tropic storm surge
in
one ear / out the other
there was never any doubt
We park in the spot reserved for those wounded in battle
Order hepatitis cocktails at the Seismic Lounge
I need a surfboard shaped like my life I said
The waitress hands me a speargun & a dose of drizzling fog-
mist from an early Sunday morning in July
so promulgated between tides
There’s blood in my eyes
& a loaded question coming my way
any minute now
