anymore, which used to bother me
since dark waters portend death they say,
until the dream rivers turned clean and quiet,
clear enough to see under the rippled surface,
deep, deep, until the randomness of truth
focused like a foundation firming up
the river’s webbing:
bald tires and rims,
green pop bottles hurled from the bank,
plastic jug, plastic cup, plastic plate,
glowing green rubber worm hook
caught in a mouthless doll’s face;
streaks of rust and yellowed poison
pooled in a hollow log – mesmerized
into the story of a one-eyed giant catfish.