This past weekend, we packed up the Outlander and headed northeast to King’s Lynn for a little camping excursion. The first one of the season. I know it’s late, but heck with the earlier weather not being the best and then vacation time in Fuerteventura, well the days and weeks fly by and before you know it’s mid-July before you’re pitching tent for the first time in 2018. Looks like we caught the last of the dry, hot weather too, so good deal all around.
King’s Lynn is a seaport and market town in Norfolk, England. At 102 miles, it’s the nearest beach to us (actually the beach we went to was about 30 miles north of our campsite in Hunstanton. It was fabulous grabbing so much fresh air over the weekend, and two nights of open fire – bonus!
On the beach, I crafted these two poems:
profit
instead of profit,
music is the bottom line
dance floor constructed
sexual
mind-altering
experience to create
a language of desire
the break from real
sold to us through
escape
the environment
where physical connection
seemingly encouraged
emotional engagement
suppressed.
the composition of style
sexual energy
makes less than
what it seems
body becomes object
the desire within,
a chance to touch
the forbidden
day breaks
the magic ends
keeps coming back
keeps pouring in
gay or straight flyers
advertising the event
energy, sex, or otherwise
the composition of
the style of
the streets of New York City
I got in line came
face to face with attractive
young women bundled against
the cold in stylish pleasant
conversation, sensually dressed
heroin-chic, collecting £15 for
privileged entry.
I entered the chapel
headed for the bar
too early for the truth
at the bar, I found
the congregation
of the beautiful
demarcating
truth from beauty
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