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Monday, 25 August 2014 17:18



happy birthday, Chase

laying next to me under half fluorescence

two beds now one

worn cotton grabbing cracked feet

soft until put back to use

a muffled bomb, probably not

cackle of fireworks

few whites shine in an orange hazy night


and by morning

anticipation of the sea, of seeing

pastel wash a salmon pink where blue and grey


now brighter where the seams aren’t bound

crumbling corners and gaping walls

a sort of infestation certain, or the aural remnants

of past exploded

chairs at a precarious tilt


posters from decades passed reinforce prosperity

the tiered oasis at water’s edge

undoubtedly pristine, but rust

but salt

but dust blown through

from the bank, the quarter or such out there

not a horizon if orange specks just float between

more angles not running together

and the outlet is askew

in darkness it was blood streaked along the bedroom

by light some poor renovation

we wash, at least here a place to dry our hands

nothing about the glass and mirrors confirmed though

to run circuits to the basement

watching for Western [neighborhood] thieves

by birdsong this beginning far more romantic

vacation, after all

happy birthday, Chase




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