Wednesday, May 12, 2010


The weightlessness of surfing,

the unmonitored pursuit that is
catching a wave
into dead space populated
by figments,

brings me crashing to the beach.
Buried. Inside out;
retching around a glassy pebble.

A gallstone.

An avalanche of unanswered mail,
virtual splintered bone.
Orbit and muscle, unblinking eye.

The sin of omission. A harbinger.


Happy Hour...Somewhere said...

Sometimes I just feel ever slightly dense. I like it but have no idea what it's about...especially the gallstone part. A laparoscopic cholecystectomy does not usually wax poetic to me.

I know...I am far too literal.

ib said...

Jesus. A "laparoscopic cholecystectomy"; I had to look it up just be certain.

I'll stick to gallstone, with just its mild inference to bile, cholesterol, severe pain and blockage.

It is is what it is. Transparent, in the main, or unintentially buried like a stain in the sand.

Glad you like it, though.