Call the Number on Your Screen

Movement.
seawall.   beach concrete.

I often think of the tear-stained pavement
of Todos Santos.

Rust.

LEAVES (a pile of scrap iron
dropped off a cliff)

I thought so.

rockslide drum solo

wrecked shorebreak throwdown rips
& dreams.

A chunk of silence
crumbling in the parking lot.

“It’ll all cave in on you eventually”

silken seas, cold crystal flames