two poems: fishing and space

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Habits Inherited From the Dead

fishing

we bent

down legs

to all

thighs,

led from

fire flies

until they

tilted

into dusk,

into dazed glow

of coordination

round marshes,

mud suck,

under bridge

we hunched, red

swell of heat — trapped

down to trek forward,

sweating off foreheads

we held

fishing poles

strung to lines,

rolled into hooks,

metal twisted into

blood gut of fish,

salt hung in air,

hung on hair, we stepped

through until slats of bridge

split into lit

yellow from

above vehicles

rumbling, drivers

unaware of below,

of two men squatted

on twists in ligaments,

crossed to other ends,

slicked of pore oil, cigarettes tucked

in ears, until past bridge

to a night pressed on pond,

bright of lamp post, glowed

of halo yellow

we casted, dragging

back into reel spin,

cut into fish mouth

gills all air-choked,

eyes bulged before

dried of all color

space

before fetal, before

our cellular unfolding

into brain stem, before

fed of amniotic, curled

in engorging of womb

before eyes, before

pupils all black

in mother sack,

billions of

plasma stars

churned to fusion,

distance farther

apart

than widths

of planet-fat

in between that, all nothing

so nothing, for so far,

for so long,

even within us,

in our atomic

bulk, between

electrical in

electron

motion,

mostly emptiness

is human

we birth of

earth, point

haloed in sun

until its heat

swells to our

fall,

we curl

inward, fed of

this wanderer, so far

away, we are,

cradled in silence,

only a gleam

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