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January |
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a poem by Zachary Whalen
MAYBE FISH
the sun climbs a ladder to God
& hands down bags
of sweat
days die slowly
in a parking lot inferno.
all notions of time
tossed aside, and yet
here it is again
hiding underneath
my crusted eyelids
with death for company.
maybe the fish know
unblinking, unthinking
eyes peeled for the shiny lure
& all the deep blue sea
says nothing.
& hands down bags
of sweat
in a parking lot inferno.
tossed aside, and yet
here it is again
hiding underneath
my crusted eyelids
with death for company.
unblinking, unthinking
eyes peeled for the shiny lure
& all the deep blue sea
says nothing.