On the beach-
this book of nature poems
opens me.
Above the red lips
below the black brows-
the green of her eyes.
On this brick wall,
a dead kid's name-
still dripping.
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From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to the rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, the simplicity of Hershey's chocolate to the complexity of garlic pepper seasoned, cedar-planked salmon drizzled with lemon-dill butter, my thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.

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