And with my prospects
all turned murky I
gave my oaths to the
left bank of Paris’
shadow-city, Centralia,
PA, where devils’
pitchforks dance like
sixteen-year-olds
at junior prom and
graveyards howl at
tourists–
______keep
_________away!
______hollow
_________ground!
the first belief by
lime-skinned mariners,
fingers cured with
ocean salt, their
sticky manes devouring
light and giving
pause to mermaids’
delightful ruses—
juliuswrites 