thoughts beside the estuary


thoughts beside the estuary ( yrautse eht ediseb sthguoht )

rivers can be salty – too
like dry roasted scrotal sacks

there’s a shanty in the air
singing tails of dogs at sea

under skies of mutant blue
grains of sand within my shoe

is this the real life?
is this just fantasy?

egrets aren’t actually eagles
– they’re herons

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