The Man in the River

Lips split down the center.
From his mouth
he spits at rocks,
a lunatic enraged,
his saliva sticking to naked toes standing at the rocky edges.
Water as opaque as India ink;
colorless sediment churning.
Frosted nails scratch along the current
like a skinning blade on calcium stone.

Please find my poem “The Man in the River” published by Oyster River Pages. It is a pleasure to be part of their publication!

 

Advertisements