Susan Haris


the lanes crimp with smell and the fish totter into consciousness,

looking around recollecting names in a frenzy John, Paul, Luke,

unweathered by posts of the sea till they are smarted by arrival

of a new one- bobby is skimming on the sea of desperation and

half alive he cannot see the friends but only death around the corner

and through the door, the fish cleanse their auras expecting him,

they sidle their tongues and scrape the silver and keep open eyes

mustering the consciousness extending the pectoral fins to the dead

but bobby smiles flashily thinking of his life so far flashing before

his eyes swell in memory and escape the wet floor and the teeming

plankton who pick up the other fish and make their way through-

they finally find his name, bobby bobby wake up here and tell us

if you are staying this fresh principally for Thomas whose silence

outweighs the silence of the internal organs, bobby look here stop,

flapping give us your operculum and enter the consciousness boy,

there bobby dies and wakes up in a sea junked with flat silver coins