Black Spots

 

Walking through black spots, wind:
Sun-palmed trees, wrath of the beach—
The water beyond could drag me down;
Toes cling to sand for dear life.
We noticed the shadow of our friend,
Standing in the black spots,
Dragged by the wind,
Just thinking—

Archiving lists of gates and looms
In a library filled with sand—
Worried only by the leaping of beetles;
Vines, barrels full of beer, bitter.

Damned, deserted, upset:
Heralded;
Welcomed;
Abused.

Lost to the sea, drunk on a lilo, no horizon left
And swimming back to the dense streets of the city,
Where people scream, holler, revel—
And the feeling is mutual
When you say you don’t belong—

 

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