The streets are me broken chains of thought in the company of whistles and horns a subway below sidewalks of people fishing for space between crosswalks while a guitar and sax play songs for quarters and dimes all beneath a sun and clouds forming shade and shadows as the engine is motion   Advertisements


Over the oceans uneven surface the oarsmen strain against ancient currents. Muscles ache with weight and drive. The waves seek dominance on the boats direction, altering the course, only to be set right with flesh and strength. A linen light mist layers on hats and shoulders.  A gray leather sky broods above in silence. The … More MEN AND FATHOMS