The sky is bruised-black and brooding. Puddles of orange light lend life to the shadowed figures that pass by. The sea licks a sober rhythm at my feet. Ragged thoughts are picked-up and tossed in the wind. A sharp prick on my sole – jagged glass; green beer bottle. On one leg, injured foot on my knee yoga-style, I examine the damage. Barely a mark.

Seabird skull gapes

Rain drips long and passionless;

Nothing to see here.


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