Friday, August 24, 2012

catfish in the hole

In darkness 
a serenity; no one to holler
me, only the trenchish sea-bottom
of darkness: of the morning that is night,
the 2am singing, soft, sweet
over sycamore leaves. The churchyard
wilted, the county fair a fistful of trash,
the river silt 
swallowed by a catfish in the hole,
his belly yellow-white, ripe thankful
with fat, with flesh, possibly also
screwdrivers, penknives and paper clips, 
edges of an ancient Budweiser can; 
he loves the night, too, and my papa
sets out hooks for him. (Night: hookful 
thing, not hateful.) The night is true
love: no holler of life here 
smoking up the corrugated 
corridors of my brain, no 
encircling black birds, no tripwires,
only darkness, darkness 
without ire, envy or lies: only the truth 
of the moon, shedding light,
the catfish in the hole, 
river cat
sucking river silt.   

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