Listen to me, he says, ya gotta hang that storm wave and bite hard into the sand when ya hit.
The old sailor's grunt is weak today, no doubt that ancient shell begins to crack on some primeval stone, the guts of his home ready to spill like wave-froth against the shore.
I tell ya, ain't nothin' to it, not near as tough as the gale of '64.
We order another drink as he coughs the lingering notes of his life upon the barroom floor.
When he spits up, some of us look away.
"Some of Us Look Away" from "The Collection"
That's some great writing there, Steve. Really loved the story here and the details that make it come alive. Also like the image, and how the horizon is gently rounded which made me think of it as a flat earth where the ocean spills over the edge.
ReplyDelete