August 1, 2013


The life is wet clay in search of hands.

What will mold me.  Make me better.

Maryland is crazy for crabs, divided into two shores.  Mine, the eastern, is the playground of the yachted and summerhoming.  It seems to me less diverse, more redneck, more conservative.  It seems strangely like the home of my childhood, the sleepy town in central Florida.  

Am I home I wonder.  What circle have I traced back.  What chance will I be given to right the wrongs in my life.  

I have, you see, some regrets.

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