The Absence of Wavelength

Baited…Flung

ever feel like someone else’s carnival prize,
and yet not good enough?

Silver barb through my eye
because I caught a glint, tried.
Angled, be-slimed catch
can’t wriggle off your line.

Spurred fins flare, prick fickle flesh
that grasp me whole.
I’m inhaling more than a surface will do.

Is the sun mad at me?

Gleam of smile so bright,
fat teeth could crush
scale and bone and tiny brain
with a single bite, when
revealed, a thick fat worm
that struggles against its might.

Red pours through my window,
my cavity fast filling, when
the blunt, stiff tug comes.
I’m unplugged and flung

back to brine, moat of scum.
Wind up your vinyl vine,
cast the next fresh bait and let’s try
to get it right this next time.

From depth of black bottom
to green to bluest high I should rise,
as desire, a golden center most merciful.


5.5.23

Why the last three lines? Try.

Everyone seems to know more than me.
I’ve settled, tired.