Stone washed
Curse whomever usurped the phrase
Forever ensuring conjured visages of teens in the eighties
Big hair, jean jackets
Weary digitized drums splishing
Gum smacked rebellion
Cigarettes and mullets
Clearance racks awash in fluorescent offal
Stone washed
A turn of phrase never gifted to a Frost or a Stevens
But crafted and stapled across chests and asses
Of generations
An unholy pairing
A neglectful Muse
Footprints at the Crossroads 
Stone washed conjures in my minds mental memories hot summer days, drinking icy water directly from the falls. The water having been purified by washing over miles of stones on it’s way to me from the ice pack higher up.
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