Picks, Water, and Writers
I thought I was going to take photos today,
but instead I’m sitting cross-legged
on a rock wall that runs
along the side of the bay,
half-drank Rockstar in front of me,
headphones on supplying me with music,
hood up on my most worn
yet most comforting zip-up.
Chewing on a guitar pick
(Lately I’ve been chewing on picks
more that playing with them.),
thinking, writing (and shivering).
It helps calm my mind,
get it off current events,
to think of writers and water:
Hemmingway, Twain, Thoreau, Kerouac,
and wonder where their minds wandered
when they put down their pens
and watched the waves come in.
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