poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

Fisher Fish

 

 

No more than halfway down the page

we quit reading maybe skim

a few lines more but likely less

giving up on finding that killer line

shocking image sound bite

as if waiting beside a baited trap

or hiding in a duck blind 

quack-call shotgun appetite

 

Having too much to read makes us scanners

knowing we have to skip most of it

what we discard has already discarded us

knowing its scattered audience

is as disposable as these lines

less than a brief flirtation

an onscreen ad clicked away 

 

Now and then a line pulls us in

a catfish taking our baited hook

pulling us into the river, running with us

we can scarcely breathe while growing gills

a turn we half-expect; it the fisher we the fish

taken whole swallowed whole

a sushi of reading-being-read

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