i am hopeful to be
less hopeful. i am
attempting to stop
attempting. i am
interested in filling
with emptiness. i have
no words;
this is a town
where people, mostly
faded shuffling men,
go
out on boats.
they pay for the right
to claim fish
that belong to no one.
they claim these ownerless
fish as their own,
paid for with pieces of
shining singing soul.
they catch these fish,
fish,
pulsing expressions of
dreams and unfettered
thought, and they sell
them. they trade
explosive flashing bodies
for material we currently
place value in, and
use this material to buy
trucks and beers and places
out of the rain to place their
streaming heads.
this is what
my words are,
not mine.
i pay for them
and then give them
release.
i have traded much
of my laughing soul
for them, i don’t laugh
that much anymore.
i hope to trade
them for material
of value, so that i may
not buy beer and
not buy a truck
but try to dry my
trickling head.
zakschafer.com 