sitting under a thicket of firs
i drink a small amount of beer,
enough to relax and quiet the chatter
alison and i talk about self-driving cars
and
plastics in the placentas of newborns
who asked for this?
don't talk to me about democracy
a dragon fly darts around above our camp
north winds waft campfire smoke in our direction
i think to myself that kazcynski was right, again
and the firs wave back
where's my fucking notebook when i need it?
tomorrow, i'll see a bald eagle and then watch
someone on a polyurethane surfboard get sucked
around the cliff
