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Tarmac, ocean
















Tragedy was never an intention

but it came, cloaked, secretly

shouted from rooftops,

appeared in a heartbeat


telling stories of prides

and falls, ambitions and rebuttals,

the close and the lost, fantasies

of real love and bruised realities.


Tried to settle. Tried to take

readymade steps on a tarmacked path

through a council park where

yellow arrows pointed the way on


and the way out and the grass was shaved;

but yellow arrows missed the new, the wild,

unexplored, dangerous – no mountains to scale,

no rivers to swim or adrenalyne rushes


and their aftermath. Quiet, sedated maybe.

So much risk to stay alive

through the deathful, tolerate

the insufferable, ride waves


in nausea and vertigo and still

choose to be with the ocean,

choose to be the unbearable

ocean in the ordinary, the everyday.


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