explaining how we are all the fillet-o-fish

the cold grey angst of morning hangs
about him, the boat and her quiet
music of rope and the massage of water
against her waterline. He casts
toward the thin reeds by the fog-blurred shore
pauses, and deliberately starts
to reel.

i wait, and consider the bait.

the veil of chill morning rests
above me, the boat and her thundering
music of foot and the message of water
against her waterline. He reels
toward the thing reeds of my fog-blurred logic
pauses, and deliberately stars
to cast

i wait, and consider the bait.

the lonely grey of morning hangs
about him, the boat and her sobbing
music of tether and the mess of water
against hi cheeks. I bite
hard the thin line under the fog-blurrred dream
he sets, and deliberately starts
to reel.

i wait, and consider my fate.