Sighting

Every day or so, they say
the waiter's by the sea
Thickest fog, unsubtle smog
his basic rivalry

And there he stands, this proffered man
throwing curses from the edge
Still he fights as docks ignite
those promises they pledged

In true abyss he'll always miss
the stories that they'd sing
Till the boy returns the seas shall burn
it's lost linguistic string

No mighty bridge with climbing ridge
can stop a body's fall
What push or shove, indicative of?
He may never know at all.

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