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Santa Monica

There's something for everything

Sun block for a chapped lip,

Polish for a plastic shoe

Candy flavors in the coffee cream

Almond joy, vanilla bean,

Cameras on your car to park it

You're never left in a lurch.

At the boardwalk

A sandled man

Gave me a pamphlet to raise my spirit

From the dirty hell in which he said it must be dwelling.

He spoke of God, said you can hear it,

If you can only stop speaking for a while,

If you could only listen.

I took the pamphlet,

Backpocketed,

Then bought an ice cream

And sat and read a bit

Of the pamphlet,

Atop a stairset,

Below a long sky,

Alongside the thin-sanded beach.

The water crashing,

Waves bursting over

Surfers, swimmers, kiddies, and old folk alike.

The soul-instruction manual was boring,

But I kept reading.

The more mundane the religious experience,

The closer to God you become,

Isn't that how it goes?

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