The river is high for winter, but it’s still the water I know, its muddy banks, dirty shore, lucid waves. Swollen, I can’t follow it to the lighthouse. I cut through brambles, to the trail, stepping on spongy flora forming a false carpet,…
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How leaves lie around his house…placed, as if in a certain order. How the sky is colorless above his roof, matching the freeways. The only chance for him to see color and chaos is the sea But the ocean is forbidden inland,…
You thought it would’ve been water and initially you were right. Then, the ocean changed. No one was surprised. After all, that’s what we do, change, survive, change again if we don’t die first. Not very poetic. What nipped us in the ass was…
I remember swimming against your current, only to find myself stuck, muscles not strong enough to make progress. I learned to swim with you. I remember heading for your deepest channels, where the big ships travel, catching large wakes. Your cautions were always whispers….
Feel free to make representations out of your own fiction. Be careful when you make representations of someone else’s truth.
A reader dips a hand Into swift water Waiting in initial silence To be taken by the current An author swims Without life preserver Arms….splashing Yelling towards the shoreline
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