lost artifact of sun,
If there is a cave he bulls toward it.
If your hands and instincts fit,
from the bank, croaks and shits
for the fish. If you give him more,
for you. A semi shakes the bridge
lights a fire. Nothing will come of this.
pinch and lift pieces too big
The fish strains, mouth clenched with steel.
But if he becomes silt,
is swallowed like a thousand barbed hooks:
I've always thought if there is a God then it is probably a flathead catfish burrowed down in the mud of some Kansas river.