dis poop. fish poop.

September 1, 2009

vertical cloud streams
down her face
staining drying crusting
flaking off into the
time for supper, mollie the tropical
wyoming a home
house offered
appreciated yet unanswered
dave the dip
i don’t eat veggie sandwhiches
ever since you tripped and landed on that
stuck up your ass.
fisheye hanging from her neck
to view the familiar as unfamiliar
to view the foreign
undersea community
fed by the
staining drying crusting flakes
the cloud surrendered;
standing upright,
feet in the familiar
empathetic to the
foreign to the
woman who
landed on the stick to the
tropical fish.


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