Din reduced to din,
A cacophony of ambient notes
Speed my errant feet forward
To a standard destination.
Gasping for that necessary gas,
Inhaling takes a sharp turn
And the organs that pulse
Struggle to perform their daily toil.
Pause for your life, young goddess,
Reach not in the black abyss
For the container of Death.
As I plod the frequent path
To the net that promises to catch,
We realize: My slimy fish are not so easily tamed.
They writhe in suffocation,
Gulping and gurgling,
And a tiny fish slips from a loosened knot.
Be safe, oh wandering one.
Now naught remains but this:
Cultivating the caught.
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