Bait

fat man

has an apple

picks a worm

from its flesh

and sticks it

on a hook

hangs the rod

over the river

casts the line

into the water

tugs a little

teases

the bait

glints in sunlight

refracting

in the water

silver sliver

whispers “feed”

all the little fishes

come

a-nibbling

round the worm

in the swirling

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'you never write me back in the cold and sober howling winds of daylight, where you're in danger of being seen. you never write me when your form cannot bleed into the formless, rooting in, burrowed deep into the ground, wrapping ahold of me tight, feeling rather than seeing -- much unlike this stark and starchy daylight living. You only write when we re both tasting death by the precarious and cu...

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