Tribute to Bill :

   The big green bridge lifts itself out of the mist and rises skywards by post and cable, tall and solid, a thing removed of emotion or argument, it stands there day after day and cares not about you or anyone else.

    I see the faces of the people who cross this bridge every day,  I can see their expressions through the glass, I can see their fates pass by like scrub brush beside the road, their stories already told and sorry, damp and tired.   We are all heading for the same pit in reality, a real pit of horror, a sticky and sickening place where we all lose our everythings.    Carbon and Oxygen, we all fall down.

   I stood up and walked forward knees straining against gravity's seduction, my eyes sore and weary from examining all that the day had to offer thus far, lives flush and flushed out, I barely touch any of them but they are mine all the same, I go to lengths to see them through and I hate them all for it in the end.

    I am tired now,  I do not want to dally here but I can not deny the magnetism of the water as seen from above, from this point from which I survey it all, black and flowing like ink, snakelike and sorrowless,  as it has always been before structures such as this were erected over it's spine like vain commitments to progress's curricula vitae, pages in a book but spread lengthwise and cold and green as are stones in the earth, as are the arguments of bitter lovers.

        I stare down into this inky forever,  I am too far away to recognize my own reflection therein.  I imagine the numberless arms of the waters pulling me in, pulling me down,  arms I would never trust if given the opportunity or question to do so, arms long and bent at awkward angles, unnatural expressions of want.    I do not trust what I see, and I do not go there,   with effort I pull my eyes ahead and return to my home.   I travel the river wide,  I step carefully but quickly,  I do not allow my gaze to linger at any place other than my feet, or where they will step next.