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Faultline, an edgy excerpt

For Linda Watanabe McFerrin, author and teacher
 who inspires the writing of sexy stuff.

Faultline
 – an excerpt

Fog 

Urges from frigid ocean

to widen

and spread

Surges

toward a naked coast.

 

Fog

Rolls with cells of human debris

Like herds of headless snakes.

 

Fog

Mounts the ridge of wet grass and wood

and spills, goes down on valleys 

of brush and forrest.

 

Fog

swells, and 

enters

the Golden Gate.

 

Then purple-grey fingers of fog

Silently feel the edges of the Rainbow Tunnel

and settle in secret folds of the Marin Headlands.

 

Eventually

Fog hangs like whispers about the clamped windows

of a Sausalito house. 

 

24 Bunkley Drive

 

Where Dr John Johns lies, 

sweating, 

 arms in surrender. 

 

& Heat 

pumps from vents 

  inward 

  enduring with undulating moans

and spasmodic gasps 

 

But Dr John Johns 

 merely sleeps 

Limp 

in his sweat

 

And Selene, with moist brow

and sizable profile

 Props the refrigerator door with the mound of her hip,

one side of her white T-shirt cinched up

Snagged

in elastic confines

of sensible underwear.

 

Slow waves of snoring 

drift from the bedroom 

and lap upon the soft misty glow of muted TV.

 

The fog horn

blurrrps

A soggy afterthought.

 

          & Fog

  retreats 

Exhales 

across the bay, where San Francisco is obscured

from the waist down.

 

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