Student Poetry This Project WR245 More Home		Warfinger James McDonald Fish blood turns swollen the dock from tip to ass. Mung. It's an ugly wharf, short and stacked with crabs and shrimp-buckets of scuz fuzz. Soot. his ship. Tusseled and booming with loss. A crack in the hull. Merchants, boys, the oil-skinned net men fill with concern. For Mung. Do not call her. It pours. Mung. This wharfinger just lets saltwater suck support under, under. Small girl fell into the cold. Drift down. The gulf of dead pooling past. A beard of fog curls around his legs. Draw her back, it begs. Lull that silver hair out of the purple whirl: Mung. Trembles where the dark slaps the wharf hard. This girl is just a washed-out christmas card. James Dean McDonald is a 23 year old cyclist, film-buff, lover of language, and rock n roll animal. He likes to comb his hair, stare off into the sweaty mirror. You can read more of James's classroom poetry by following the graphic link below.
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