SURFERS FROM HELL
This is Temporary: 4 of 8
Don’t bother with worry,
this isn’t me crying to you all.
I am crying to the scribe in the wind
who’ll take this story and mount it
upon a medium, a tape, a film,
an ether, a plasma indelible,
immutable.
It’ll serve no one’s memory
that I breathed,
or pretended to breathe,
and so is given unto me
the sweet infinity of solitude,
untethered by the mandates of form,
unafraid of the endless geyser,
a surfer in Hell.
