Thursday, March 15, 2007

regret: a poem-thing

Tonight, the mood is sombre, the candles are aglow.
A poem I once wrote comes to mind, and suddenly I know
That if it does not have its way, if it does not speak its mind
I'll never write another. The Muse will grow unkind...


poor fish
gasping for water
not meant to be out here in the sun
hearing this gibberish (others so happy about your mistake).

poor fish
gills flaring… hoping.
are you thinking of the damn hook?
one eye in the dirt, one in the blue, blue sky.
you flip, you toss, but ah, the wrong way
up the bank and down, down (laughter)
dirtier now for all the effort
a bit further from your cool home
and more dead.

ah fish
i too have gasped like this.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

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