CLUES TO THE INQUISITION
The florid moon descends too soon,
as this light in the harbor attends me.
Some paces off, three or four boats
in storage remain piled in their plastic
wrap on trailers going nowhere. I
am never the one to make sense of
things, and this is no exception. The
bar at the bulkhead has ten or twelve
people sitting, engrossed at being
engrossed in something. Fat Tire
Beer, or some other new Belgian
misfit - good God how people do
try : Cosmopolitan airs, like drinking
imported Superbowl beers. If the
whole world becomes one big
advertisement, I wonder, will there
be anyone left to buy anything?
And where would we sit amidst
all that trivial-junk-matter we'd
then be expected to share?
Could we sit anywhere?
then be expected to share?
Could we sit anywhere?
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