Feels Like An Artsy Day Out

A.J. Casson (1898-1992)

October, North Shore, 1929

I feel like the North shore, beaten & wind-worn, the slim edges faded into moldy tones of oblique. My skin is like the crusted lichen, painted with drear of Winter & a little too dry, crumbling at the touch of even a small bug. 

I waste away, watching the sky shift & tide like the vast oceans, but my fingers can’t quite touch the waves, I cannot hear the roar—a silent movie. 

I trip on down the stones, accepting the scratches like little kisses on my skin. 

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