light flickers in your rearview    mirror just another of     the recurring insults to  

your attempts at tethering     perceptions to sense this time     a milk-thick glimmer while you’re


driving home but stops if you        look back mostly you do not         exist inside your basic      

situations & so you         create a bed between them      but there’s no rest sometimes where


you’d next step there’s already         a waiting shoe print in wet      sand you won’t go near why would    

a gull’s shadow crossing this       beach right where you stand make you     drop your scarf into the waves 


you have those impulses leap       off the edge turn the wheel in    to traffic which you’d never

commit though all surety       is fictive the waves suck your        scarf you could wade in for it 


as if then you would feel real        for a time under its damp     weight



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