Men in blue wooden boats ply the shores of my forgotten self.
By the edge of the sea I stare out at the horizon of my memory, I am stunned into silence by the rising sun.
On the highway at night we plummet through darkness in our ungainly vehicles, lost travelers from some forgotten time.
poetry and shorts on flow states of various kinds, occasional explorations into clutch states, ebbing.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
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