Condition blue. 
Ten or so 
bars kick it off, racing 
over one ocean. 

Ripping in mean 
swimmer’s blue, 
in a competing mesne, 
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta 
more down surf, startling 
That swells 
the back light between us.

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Forgotten for dead but still in view:
If we put our hands..
you can’t hear me you’re going too fast (bicyclist to bicyclist).