On the Edge
Diesel engine thrum
rides us out to sea
blue sky azure ocean
light breeze
We rock all day braced
against the tide roll
heavy poles in hand
fish die desperately
Beautiful fish bloody
hooked gaffed stabbed
Bonita bleed profusely
to the crew they are fish
we are their predators
Born from the sea today
sleepy drunkard I see
I expected thunder from
a prophet who mends
and binds me to him
There are no prophets
personal or public
who lead us away
from the edge
