We're not really poets
We're liars pretending to capture moments
We're trapping butterflies in nets,
fireflies in mason jars capped with lids, fish in styrofoam coolers layered between cool ice melting .
Its eyes are bulging as it's gasping, inhaling toxicity that we call air.
The will to power beckoning through its form, flopping around the ice cubes exchanging energy,
creating heat
Lukewarm drops slip down creating a puddle not large enough to survive
I reach out across to my brother for a high five.
Our palms slap and I laugh as the light from the sun shimmers across the water.