Carson Beach

Waves, flecked with crimson, /blood, like water. beads up,/ on the cracks in your crystal,/ the illumined watch./ That final peril , going through a red light, /provoked once more your silent world./ Beyond the breakers,/ we mount our effort/ connect with the barber,/ our unsung hero, /while he skips stones across the foam./ Near the train, he tries to tell us/in deep, drunken tones/which century is best for us/which he wants to live in/ the one we’re living in  won’t accept us./-Won’t accept us? We’re forced to carry him/all the way back to the embankment without sandals.

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