Somewhere, out there: broken glass seas under a vague sunset - mustached men heaving tuna cross a skiff - the skitterskatter of letters written home, a bunk above in dark - bay leaves, raisins, cinnamon to stew - callused everything, whittled skin - dreaming of memories of dreams before - a life lived, not well, but certainly . . . and still you here, for what?, tallowsouled in traffic.
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