Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

The river is an old man rusting as he flows. He looks just like the ocean sees himself as stream. He's all metaphor  and magic his memories a spray of dawn surprise sparkling in sunlit ripples Where does the river flow, old man to somewhere grey and dirty where do you hide old man, someplace we may never know?

The river An old man  looking at a river  sees the river.  No metaphors  no magic  no memories  of dawn sunrise  streaming the water.  Just the river, the water gray  and dirty moving  someplace  he will never see.