Every morning
I take in the sails
after the night's drift
and drop the fifty milligram anchor.
I see scullers oaring through the cut
and I can hear the hoary cackle
of the men who put out to sea
on the land and never returned.
The jagged edge of the loathsome knife
is growing dull with each dose.
2 comments:
I like the snapshots. THe story was good, but these be some inspired snippets of geography.
This is an excellent piece of writing. Don't touch a hair or change a dose.
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