Spear Fishing the Id — a poem

spear-fishing

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Poised on the bank over the unreasonable flow, spear ready, intent, I wait for the one.  You know it; it’s there and then it’s gone just as fast as you can move for it. I know, I know, I need to drop the weapon and jump in after it.  Give up civilized pretense and strip myself for action — become the creature among flailing utterances, the instantaneous insane mumbles that lack meaning but are filled with life and fight like hell to keep from being caught.  You know it when it happens, you pull it against your skin as it battles, flaps, flails. The stench overwhelms, the wondrously wild reek of a rivered vocabulary — the syntax of the core.

 

 

6 thoughts on “Spear Fishing the Id — a poem

  1. The imagery in this is palpable, Charley! Drop the weapon and jump in after it – great line; great metaphor! And the descriptors of the catch – the flapping, flailing – the feel against your skin and the stench. Marvelous! (Cool photo, too!)

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  2. Fantastic!! It really comes alive at the end, with the reek and thrash. “syntax of the core” spears it through the neck and pulls it twisting out of the water. Perfect.

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