By ERIC LASTICK, a creative writer of bright talent… Olden seas, ship’s masts, as cloud forms of these ghostly flipper cloth gins. Masts in the heights of the faraway landlines. Breads and turnovers in the dim of morning. Wishful crates and merchant’s holds, to their tales of ghost-like restlessness. Darken the galleys. Ship attain the … Read More Read More