wriggle of morning thought.
Something to hold on to. To pull him out. Sharp. He bites–
Hold on! Hold on!
Tight jaw, reeling in,
line stretching, water shake. There’s a
bend and a swing.
with the whole scene
swirling past too fast then he’s
flopped over and
down onto the plankety
board bottom of the shiver boat.
Standing above himself now.
Wide awake.
Cold.
dear mr. vortex: you probably delete your spam reflexively (you can find treatments for that–on the internet!!), so i wanted to rescue these few words from your most recent spamming:
“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
it’s about time someone said it.
ah, someone did already say it–gk chesterton in 1910.
(still, it was a good choice on the part of the spam universe, even if not original.)