01-14-2020, 09:03 AM
A faint smell of fish
His hands creased red with knife guts
skin threads lashed on sail tight knots,
in-land he polishes park bench brass
and names her with a dark rum flask.
His eyes are dead, dragged in the net
free-diving, caught amongst the wreck
last on the line he starts to thrash
old seabirds left to bloodied sprats.
His hands creased red with knife guts
skin threads lashed on sail tight knots,
in-land he polishes park bench brass
and names her with a dark rum flask.
His eyes are dead, dragged in the net
free-diving, caught amongst the wreck
last on the line he starts to thrash
old seabirds left to bloodied sprats.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out