Rocket Man

Written Word

*For Rocket
Rest now my friend,
And tell whoever is running the bar up there that you can have one on me.

Between the cementation of a wall, overlooking the stony shore, grew a thick green weed. It bushed dense and tight and felt like gelatine to touch, breathing through the moist boomerang tide. I lay alone along the pier, limbs still and eyes vacant, feeling a sense of serenity within my calm mind, comparable to the soft siren along the coast.

I hear a whisper:

“I am the Rocket man,” it says, “let me fly.”

My heart felt fatally lonely. My jaw was limp and my legs shaking; my hair matted and wet as I had been recently baptised. The soft dew within the thick sodden air brushing passed my cheeks left them blushed and rounded.

My thoughts were burning, turning like a leaf on the wind. Beginning to…

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