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Sandy hands.

In by Wyatt on October 4, 2010 at 12:12 am

Handstands are terrifying.

Legs kick too far, back curves limply then straightens taut like a spagetti noodle cooked in reverse, fingers spread clenching the sweet earth like opposable feet.

And your head falls.

It falls quickly, nastily, like it shouldn’t, like it wasn’t designed to. Your feet clamour through the soft air for sturdy grip and find the delicate wind. Your shirt forgets its purpose and ceases to cover your chest. And gravity still pulls.

The pounding ocean is the only source of calm. A beach handstand shows you that waves don’t roll, they cling to the ceiling like hungry caterpillars.


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