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River Metaphysics


Inside my catfish body you will find
two additional fish—blue & washed
in wet light through the translucent

mesh of my skin scale-netted.  This trinity
in me writes the most crucial poems:
a catfish, a large-mouth, a perch.

Are they three dreams inside a dream
—merely fantastical?  No.  They’re
experiential—belief wrapped

in muscle: metaphysical flesh I answer to
the way others do God.  That’s right:
a perch inside a large-mouth inside

a catfish.  (Belief gets confusing.)  There is
the blue river in me & the black, wider
one I can’t explain.  In the night

sky it hums like an AC unit set to 58
now.  I used to pray directly to it
on my lawn—eyes shut tight

by the vice of my sin & failure
after Baptist meetings.  It had
too much to say, & I couldn’t

listen—if not from fear then
for the freedom of the blue future
I entered I had to leave it

in the stars above me where
I knew it belonged—far from me,
darkening—& continue walking.



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