eyes shut in son’s rocker in corner being dragged out to brush drums of windy forest why can’t i remember birth? gruesome old sports injuries? long lost days in reno ruminating? mafia even ran the laundromats that would pump out less soap and lather to make a quick buck why just milfs? why not filfs? i see how some of them are looking at me there’s so much more life in the wind in the trees in the breeze than any of these so called human beings looking down at cell phones who don’t see a thing sandcastle cities eternally wrapped by the sea swathed in mystery in the mist of mountains sprinkled dappled in the deep transcendent shadows of seaweed mystically musty, mildewy alas can’t rinse out your sleeve almost as if living, existing deep within the conch shell the clam shell, the mollusc and magnificent view of the mediterannean knowing right there and then all of hell and heaven, life and existence all forms and illusions, secret senses, core derivation of language topless, erotic, self-conscience, neurotic whose bosoms of all different shapes and sizes move with the exact same rhythm and motion of the ocean the plain and palm trees and polizzia and orchard upon orchard of lemons and olives which makes up culture makes you lick your lips outside dripping liqueur patisserie windows those sooty sepia shutters embedded embracing the verdant entrance of splendid antiquity overlooking the periphery of poverty like some old black & white adolfe menjou edward g robinson humphrey bogart dusk to dawn film noire ash-stained soot-stained newsprint tenements splashed and sprayed in the spit of storms and oceans along with all the betrayal and bullshit of human nature
scenes from the ferry by joseph reich