Sunday, October 13, 2013

On the Edge


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 

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Clever


Clever

It is an odd word
a bit like cleaver
a sly intelligence
hand you a saw
ripped from a nest
ripe flesh bleeds
swept in a basket
stars see a secret
you took a chance
you never blinked