s u m m e r t i m e . b o y
.
he fell to earth before Bowie became a star, landed on the Smithsonian current and washed ashore with webbed feet.
the south swell rider scans the horizon searching for bombora  breaks akaw, making a gnarly entry over those same rocks.
timing is crucial or the wet will smack you hard against it!
he pushes out through the foam and finds his fins ripping the green room, grinning and yewing hell bent till the salt crusts over and muscles burn.

the bended beam
rippled stretched
it morphs and dances
from indigo gone blue hue
to stripped orange and cerise trances
the lovers of last light
feasting on melancholy
draw that blanket tight
wrapped in my eyes
and sensors view
the seasons are changing
my heart is askew.