untitled.
the fisherman’s gut rolls over his scratched leather belt
fishoil & blood, yellow armpit stains, and the crusted salt of brine decorate
his striped blue shirt
he wipes his hands on it.
tattoos cover the hammer-head’s crecent scar on his forearm
his wooden peg’s begun to splinter
pieces of wood he uses to clean scales from his fingernails and teeth
his wooden peg’s begun to splinter
and standing on it is like nails
so he numbs the friction with jellyfish poison
while he tosses out nets under the sparkling night sky
and they sink into the rippling black glass
twisting the cork into his beard
the city lights on the horizon fade
as he waits for the winter’s catch
