Sterile

By the sea, the wayward sea; blown by the breeze, the salty stifling breeze, through ashland trees over sterile concrete ring the coastline's gripping whisper tapping gently on lowly shoulders and grazing dangling knees of rotten boys staring out at the wondering blue. A peek of sunlight grazes the afternoon, a hush in the clouds, the tickle of automobiles speeding through winding canyon roads, squealing gulls and the gargle of saltwater, that damning grumble of a highway packed too tight on the long ride home; all twisting through and eating away at the innards of scowling boys with soft faces and long hair flowing in the gentle waft. See it in his eyes bent and twisted, some unsatisfied growl of the blurry nights and breezy empty mornings. Gazing out towards the fairest faintest blue, some imaginary color endlessly far off, that hue that exists only between the horizon and the ocean’s end. A stiff telling stare back that says I ruined everything; but California ruined me.