A whisper from the chest, then a gulp, a shock, and sensations swoosh towards the broken crown.
It is hazardous sailing in the backwash where I a legion.
Smashing associations, crashing appropriations, and the wagging tongues of floaters who are wailing to let them come aboard.
Once touched and cherished, the whisper from the chest that flowed clearly in the current, has become something other.
Sailing through this gray matter I headily attempt to play a man in control, so as not to appear to be seen as another drunken sailor.
The wave I was riding curved but I could not – shipwrecked again!
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