A tasty bright
Between pale
evening and night

It's like its own rules, this game of life,
nothing matters
then it does,
and now is the inevitable result.

You read this bit and elsewhere,
in your past I continued
pouring my selves out in bubbles
like vesicles holding dopamine mine mine
urgen
urgentle emerging -easy
says the egg,

from my gut.

If I lived to surf,
did nothing but, for decades,

deontological dawn patrols,
every day, every, every day,

sitting with the brothers, beating back
a sense of meaningless ness, expressed as
necessary patience, rises, duty to wait,
tests patience of bobbing ducks,
daring a wave to promise a lift \rush,
with a flush of perfect form, wait
glance back to see the first beam
touch the swell out there
glimpse, sun kisses kelp forest
green glint golden tip long leaves
in the sun just edging past the cliff…

If I lived to surf,
did nothing but, for decades,

I would be famous, at that beach, when I die.

What about flying birds
When they lost grain
What about all fishes
When they lost water
What about human
When they lost to live
What of the Poet?
When he lost to do...

I was waylaid by your silent stare. Since then, my life has tumbled into an absolute void.

One who hides his ill-gotten wealth hides himself from it when it is discovered by others.

In my life's journey, I met others who, like me, had lost their way.

When your sugar is low, don't write poetry.
It will not have a sweet flavour.

With one flirty smile, several lives came to a halt in their tracks.