It Is June. I Am Tired Of

The Fish Are Naked. The Fish Are Always Awake. They Are The Color Of Old Spoons And Caramels.

I Try To Take Care And Be Gentle To Them. Words And Eggs Must Be Handled With Care. Once Broken They Are Impossible Things To Repair.

Even So, I Must Admire Your Skill. You Are So Gracefully Insane.

I Tell It Stories Now And Then And Feed It Images Like Honey. I Will Not Speculate Today With Poems That Think They're Money.

Our Eyes Are Full Of Terrible Confessions.