Sunday, February 12, 2006


Well, I don't want to grade papers. Make that, I have no idea how to grade papers. So I'm trying to pump out some poetry. I guess I know how important poetry is to me when I feel like total crap and just sitting down to write somehow gives me a sense of focus/accomplishment/purpose/whatever. So anyway. I need to write more. I keep saying that, but of course I don't. Here are a few scribblings from tonights bout with a poem.

(Untitled) or Sermon on the Mount(ed) Catfish

Each sliver, lost artifact of sun,
becomes slack before the catfish rips
your arms into the fight.

If there is a cave he heads for it.
There is little you can know about him.

If your hands are nimble, instincts fit,
you’ll reel him in. A heron lifts from the bank,
shits as he pulls upward. Someone prays

for the fish. If you give him more,
keep giving. Someone prays

for you. A semi shakes the bridge.
The man under the girders
lights a fire. Nothing will come of this.

The fish swims, mouth clenched with steel.
If there is a God he becomes it. There are few bodies

you’ll know. There is little time
in which to live. If he has become silt, settled
back to where the brown water is black,

where the sun is swallowed
like a thousand steel hooks. It will begin to rain.

On the landing crows pick over carp bones,
pinch and lift pieces too big
that splash back into the river.

Thunderheads swell.
The line is taut.