somebody else
had got there before we did,
found the shark,
and kicked it onto it's other side.
in good judgment, i poured some of my beer on it.
it sounded like march rain on a lawn that is already soaked through.
i said, "good luck, homie."
you didn't say anything. it didn't have any eyes.
the dark sat on our shoes, hugged our ankles
like children who didnt want us to leave.
the phosphorus on the edge of California
crackled like a creme brûlée under our feet.
when you make me laugh i throw my head all the way back.
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