Storm Drain

The bones of fish are greatly missed when teeth

are filled with food. It’s a cartoon tragedy we

even need to speak at all. The lighthouse is

so similar, with its skittish bravado that

oscillates to those uncaring few. Brick

and mortar that is mere causation;

a recipient of happening. To them

we are but grey blots against

green, in mist that flares

periodically and dances

on the groaning

passing of

thick

rain.

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