We just couldn’t cut it,


exhausted and slow.

The perfect extension

on an imperfect draft

of the human body in progress.

He dreamed an old dream,

of blueish-green,

in the garage through the still of night.

And there he would toil

as the rubber would boil

he’d mold them until they were right.



Bodysurfing yarns woven 'tween crest & trough

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