fools’ feast of fact or fiction
the beach town where dogs smile
trusted and free
we walk and walk
they do too
with their own social lives
and business about the town
Frederici’s points about
Cartesian mind/body split
soul as the supreme ruler
disciplining the naughty corporeal form
as I lounge with the book
he calls me a sand-witch
the umbrella on the balcony
worn translucent and shiny
like a deteriorating butterfly wing
grandmas sitting in the garden
with eyes glazed over
limits and hidden agendas
of “rational thought”
limits of science
however elegant
we need superstition because
there is no real reason we exist
a night beach is a good way to feel
really being in outer space
moon reflecting off the place licked smooth
by waves ready to swallow
in 2018 on the Oregon coast
I was convinced the big one could hit
and there was only one route out
through a tunnel in the rocky mountainside
just looking up at it gives you vertigo
there was bioluminescence in the sand
when you drag your toe a trail of green fairy dust
Kate showed us how to pry mussels off the rocks
the way her grandpa taught her
we started a fire on the beach and roasted them
sandy orange salty
up all night with the rocks covered in aliens
a good way to die
