Down at the water before summer, when one wears warm socks and boots against the wind and the cold, Marina stood. There was indifference. There was grey sky. Broken sky and broken chain link fencing, holding the river? Holding you? I shivered in the turning world, bland as those streaks of North Atlantic cloud. I remembered the big sky land in the winter when clouds rolled passed after snow dumps out the sky. I’ve lost my way off this line, a strange fracture across the sediments. It only lends itself to Why?

A steak and a beer should do it for corrective action.


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