On a beach in south San Francisco
surfers flock the waves like latex sea lions.
I drive around looking for a repair center.
One fine day in eternity and I’m lost.
An old man told me to go to hell
when I asked for directions.
But I’d rather serve in heaven.
Or wherever for that matter.
I drink my breakfast straight from the Brown Cow container
and chant my morning mantras on the beach.
A father is taking pictures of his toddler who’s body boarding.
The ocean keeps breathing behind me when I drive away.
No time to waste.
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