Falling into redundancies now, a cord whipped back. A long run up to Diamond Ridge along the beach, plus tide, alluvion alone, no packed sand, no firm footing, but sun & a brief window of blue shot through the haloes of cloud. Talked to Willa the whole way, or the air, or the cliffs layered in ochre & burnt sienna, shale & sand, to the stone & pebble shifting underfoot, the runnels of breakup streams spilling dun over the cliff-tops in cut ravine & culvert. The finer points of a self-examination in which no self would stand in steadfast at the close, in which answer’s liquefaction is nearly immediate, a foothold cleft from sand. I would have no answer, bride no certainty, grapple not after wrested fact. I would wrestle instead a shadow & know the bout endless until its end. Toss anchor to tug at tow & undertow, tide & riven wave. no sea-bed, no ample weight to hold. What self would come of self’s ceaseless battery? Self-inquisitor, playing at self’s endg
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