I swear to God I’m a humble fisherman and you’re the catch of the year. So line my table with love and I’ll swear to protect you, my dear. I once watched the water glisten as it left your polished scales. How long did it take to prepare yourself for all these ravenous males?
We built a great ship and filled it with our shit; we’re gonna prove that our shit don’t exist. Because then we’ll drown it; feed it to the fish and choke all the sea-life on good promises.
Why are you fighting this way? Don’t you love me the way I do? I do. I’ll be gentle when I rip you apart, I just want to get inside of you, until there’s nothing but a husk exposed in the dusk’s sweet, salty air. So hush, baby, hush and feel my blood rush as I run my hands through your hair.
A man’s got to eat so he learns how to fish. He dresses his lure so that fish can’t resist. And the bigger and stronger the fight in the fins, the wider the arms when that fisherman wins. She gave me a bite and the whole boat shook. She’d been taken by my worn down line with a hook. I clenched my jaw tight, gripped with muscle and pride but that fish overcame me, pulled me over the side. Down into the darkening depths I was swept, but I’d grip that pole tight with all the strength I had left, because we hunters are rightful gods of the sea and no fish underneath will get the better of me.
Then my mind went dark, for the surface I fled, but my heart became anchor, my body was lead. It seemed I’d gotten myself in over my head. Well, I took in the water and fell toward the bed.
I feel my body understand. I see the fisherman of man, he holds out an out-streched hand to say: “you’ve failed, and I tried to balm your wounds, I tried to balm your wounds.”
I smiled, I gave up too soon.
We built a great ship, filled it with our shit, choked all the sea-life on good promises.