New Habits

By Kade Hornbuckle

Awake atop Dead Man’s point,
alongside an infant sun,
I’m immersed in a field of poppies.
Looking down this cliff
I see what has called me hear,
soon I find myself
paddling out,
cradled
within it’s chasm.
Waiting,
to feel the breath of the curl,
meditating on the virtuosity of nature.
Encouraging words
form my mantra,
carving unseen designs
attempting to maintain balance
as the flow
escorts me back to beach.

Off to Haight-Ashbury,
with longboard in hand
to join the inhabitants
of sidewalk.
We vagabonds with
violins,
mandolins,
and 40’s
artists of the streets.
As we busk,
proclaiming our style and voice
within a community freestyle;
each coin earned
treated as an individual trophy.
It’s for the passion
not the money,
that has gathered each of us here.

My thoughts turn to
a little grub shack
knowing I feel the yearn
to return to tide.
Then I notice
the invitation
of your smile
from across this breadth.
How I wish that
you will be my
cigarettes,
and gin.

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Categories: Issue 4, Poetry | Leave a comment

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