SLIP-KNOT
We are walking the old Fulton Street wharf,
where so many men have died. Ship's stewards
and hired hands, the men who ran dogfights and
the stumps who'd retired from the seas and the
oceans. They were killed, or maimed anyway, and
then they were gone. Some got buried, others just
thrown to the river. Whatever it is takes things
away took them too. One time, I was sitting at the
Cable Bar watching two rats cavort and I saw what
I swear was a dead man brought back to life.
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