Friday, March 14, 2008
Or on a rotting dock with water sloshing
He casts his reel and listens to the winding.
We travel down small asphalt roads
And thoughts form casual conversation.
He's one person
who can break the surface,
Open the can of worms;
The air releases.
Once I had small tufts of hair.
He lifted me up so my head would be
Above the water.
Through an ageless chewing of waves
His shoulders are a dry seat.
Dad never lets me down.
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.