My Poems

whoever came up with the idea that communication could be an art was probably identifiably genius. and died young

to Britt and Kate I., or maybe just that whole wonderful family

FISH JUICE 

 

She drank all the water out of the glass the fish slept in

but it was noise pollution that finally drowned him

while the girl was getting high on riddles and thunder

the deaf fish grew wings and flew away.

 

Now he’s an angelfish that won’t ever die

strangled in beads and suffocating under

the canned colors she painted the bathroom sky

while she was high on riddles and thunder.

           

The fishy was abused–

he had

cigarette butts in his ears

but he never drowned in the incessant rain

because he was born in the little girl’s tears

[and drawn in chalk on the bathroom wall].

 

The fish became a man from the railroad station

recycling ideas for breakfast wine

until she had an aquatic hallucination

seeing

            “We must be related because we both have a spine.”