Fisherman

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Cold odd keys to lost cities glisten as spikes of torment test the frigid cold fish hands feeding ropes into the winds biting kiss, teeth gnashed against themselves. Hanging on for life Men in shirts of frozen plaid disrobing for a touch of longing, belonging to a certain tribe. Whether they acknowledge it or not they are each a star within the field. A leaf, a blade, a patch of shade within the black. Each one forever fighting to remain, or to get back.

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