Songs from the Fish Ladder
November rain shimmered bleak on broken “Five One Seven” asphalt. An agitated capital howled back in the dampness of oil slick reflections. Clammy concrete amplified the winds, funneling nocturnal vagabonds. And the creep of city street creatures. Aggravated skies leaked unseasonably warm, lake-fed temper tantrums. The river, bathed in polluted runaways, flowed heavy. But not heavy enough to live up to its named expectation. Decayed leaves stuck to everything. An inconvenient reminder. A crumbling signature of another vindictive season of falling things. The one currently caught decomposing, down where the fish are all laddered back up. Into that storm I walked, a vagrant heart absorbing the similarity of surroundings. Begging the connection of repetitive reminiscences. Twisting memory into disrobed branches. Matching the ones clawing up, clashing …
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