comment-less wasteland

the ripples are slowly nipping the shoreline...whether we are knee deep in the east river, or the kill van kull...whether swimming naked in the atlantic like a bearded one-armed civil war ghost, or sleeping in the sound...arthur kill didn't plan on sayreville...i am sure he would take one look and realize that nothing good has come out of swampy secaucus...float belly up (or face down) in the hudson and see what happens...oh no, no starry skies my friend, i am speaking fondly of the lower hudson, not the crystal blue reflecting pools up by hippie towns like woodstock...i am thinking of the hudson that looks and smells like the delaware flowing through philly...like the river chicago, that burned, and burned, and burned...like the angelinos that swim a river dry as grandpa's martini, and got a face full of sand instead of gin...my emaciated body is slipping away into the inky current... i am traveling that lonely river into tomorrow...