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Monday, August 23, 2010

The Ghost Ship

The Ghost Ship

fiction
edward w pritchard

The ghost ship of memory drifts in to the harbor under the cover of the frigid fog late at night between very early in the morning and moors near the jagged rocks until I stir from my slumbers and try as I might to stay anchored in the present remember too many things from the frozen hell of the cold craggy waves of my life.

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