Extracts from Nowhere #2

He’s not much of a poet
But you’ll see him counting stars
When the sun goes down the sea
He’ll watch it from afar
Letting sand slip through his fingers
His breathing is so calm
His face stern as a skyscraper
He often does alarm
Passersby that see no more
Than the book he scribbles in
While letting the sand slip through his fingers
His feet dug in six feet ancient sin.

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