this bigott guy i like(mark borthwick)

here we are
crossing the bridge
at 6am
fishlines hang from these roman archs
gliding and pulling
through opaque mercury water
on a grey summer
amanecer day break

the fishermen are silent,
stoic scruff
and worn blue blue eyes
from so much staring
at the sky,
at the ocean

we are roudy
and in varying stages
of inebriated nausea
and the colors and the shapes
warp and buzz
and our voices and the giggles
young and hoarse
on our walk back from the bars

we hear a fish splash
and we all pause at once
at the edge of the bridge
we all be quiet
the men and us

we see the fishing lines all
fluttering like kites
in an upside down land
where the ocean
is just as free
and soothing
and hopeful
as the slowly brightening sky

and the fish
become tricksters in the clouds
looping and squirming
in glee
blanketed under
their salty silver quilt(will sanders)

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