I love you like I love fish
I catch it in the open ocean
Bring it to kitchen
And cook it with such devotion
Then eat it with pleasure with no end

Though it sounds wrong to love fish
By killing it
By boiling it
putting seasoning on it
And swallow bit of pieces of it

So, I can't say I love you like I love fish
"I love eating fish" would be better to say
Though I realize its egotistic
That I indulge myself eating fish everyday
What about the fish that I picked?

The fish that I picked have feelings too
Did I ever asked for its feelings?
I need to feel the fish
feel the fins that clings
And try to fulfill its wish

Blub blub it says
Blub blub it cries
Blub blub I reply
Blub blub till the morning rise
Blub blub don't know why

It came to a point
where I don't know what to do
To The fish I'm holding
What should I do
To the fish I'm not eating?

I will tell you
We shared an amazing moment
On the open, sea the fish and I
On this ship event
Saw eye to eye

The eye that stared back
Never once blink
Tears filled in my eyes
And there's no more time to think
The calm weather cries

I put the fish back to the ocean
Its body waddled about
I slowly looked away
And tried not to look back without a doubt
It was a very emotional day.

for me, it has always been
an ocean, a sea, a body of
salty water. for me, it does
not matter if it's just a little
a little wave is shaking my entire being
imagine i
have to stand tall in a surfer's board, i
am drowning. i am drowning
can't save myself

so funny how i feel so small
with such a large body
how i feel powerless with
such a strong hip
how i feel empty with
out a gap between my thigh

s

for me, it has always been
the ocean, the sea, the body
of salty water. i want to wear
so little and show all skin. i
want to be seen. i want to
be all skeleton and float like a lifesaver.
but i
drown
i drown
i keep drown
ing. i drown. i am drown. drown

"I've noticed you cry a lot."
Yeah, that's me. On the wardrobe
door floating on the Atlantic. Except
nobody's noticed the ship's sunk.
I think they're reclining on lidos,
like the water is warm for them.

A tsunami rushing up side streets—
life flows on, collecting things.
Stops for no one and if you fall
you're dragged along until
you find your feet.
I'm drowning here, nobody else
has noticed the swell.

I've pressed paused on a stopwatch,
trying to grasp at a flimsy reality.
They're still all doing the motions,
I'm stuck still refusing to speak.
My friends are strangers in the street,
they're all calm in the madness.
Maybe the chaos is all in my head,
time carries on for everyone but me.

Tucked inside ducts and they wait to erupt,
like ******* volcanoes and not one of you knows
until they spew out their tears.
I don't cry anymore,
my dad used to say,
'cry and you'll *** less'
I guess that's what dads do,
strangle you with words that you can't understand and
you're ******* your pants but you find you don't cry,so
I guess it works both ways.

We tend to grub in the dirt today and blub on some skirt today but it wasn't always that way,
men used to be strong and to cry would be wrong,
we got soft by holding aloft these ideals of what it is to be really a male.
I blame Charles Dickens for making men cry
for destroying the stiff upper lip.
'I spy with my little eye'
which is full of glistening tears,
something that's been happening to the male population for years.
Oh cry me a lake and I'll take a swim,
come in and join me,together we'll both be
wet.

There was some expanse of time
when I could still count my age
on just two hands
so I wouldn’t have to speak when asked
When my mom still hugged me
in a fluffy towel
when I’d just got out from a bath
When lava lamps
were very popular

There were two in my science classroom
one in my best friend’s room
plenty on tv and in books and magazines
and one on my sister’s desk

I think I sort of wanted one
of my own
but didn’t want to ask
so I just always turned
my sister’s on
when she wasn’t around
watching it sideways and upside-down
and backwards and forwards and right-side-up
marveling at how
it always seemed
to look the same
and making sure
I turned it off
well before she came home
so she wouldn’t know

It was the same thing over and over
up and down
heat up and rise
cool down and sink
blub blub blub
repeat repeat
but it never got old
always in motion
so it always seemed different
despite the same old substance
being inside

I am glad I learned to understand
the intricate beauty of lava lamps
If I hadn’t
I might have had a harder time
tolerating the workings of my very mind
than I already did when I realized
it was all the same
all the same

The mind bubbles up
the same old goop
over and over
tricking us into thinking it’s new
by catching interest
in those moments of change
of transition from
too hot to sink to
too cold to rise
It’s the same old brain goop
the same old thoughts
the same old themes
the same memories and wishes
and dreams
It’s easy to feel trapped
when you’re floating in goo
and not watching from outside

But that never bothered me that
was the thing
Sitting at my sister’s desk
watching the same goop
never bored me
All that mattered was that
I was having a nice time
and the lava was pretty
and I knew my mom would be there
to hug me when I had my next bath

I want to cry
when I make
a spellig
mistake.

He said, 'I can watch your dedication but not your duty,
With tight lip I stood there making d morning more silent...
He said, 'You love your work because your respect beauty,
In a blub way I resumed with Adam lily calmly to nascent...
He said, 'I love these flowers because it is a symbol of peace,
I inhaled d fragrance with a woe thought that it is also a symbol of love, He said, 'Which is d thing I swine the most'? ? ?
Turning my face n saying, 'The plucking of flowers, will it cease'? ? ?
He said none, looked in my eyes with my problem unsolved,
It is a reason to smile, same time, I am groaning cause its branch is my stove, my life of worst...

Once upon a time in the land of Flynn
Lived the happy little elf called George
Now George was no ordinary elf
He had bright orange hair and bushy little beard
And he spoke in the language BLUB
Now Flynn was a marvellous town
With trees and rivers all around
But then one day the trees went away
And left little George feeling down
He hoped and dreamed
For what it seemed
Only a miracle could cure
But by the end of the day the trees came home to stay
And promised to stray no more
So the elf called George was happy again
And in the those trees he would play
But those sneaky little trees are trees who tease
And were only play hide and seek that day.

for Karen


raindrops spot a timber deck,
grey early morning, sunless.
twitter of birds welcome a misty awakening,
fridge hums, preserving everything.

magpie glides to rest on a line,
stark black and detailed white.
flies away to a branch unseen,
plates of evening remnants wait.

rosemary arms reach to warmth.
remembering when the light went out.
glow of blub over table in a gentle
interrogation. torture internal.

open shed in the yard’s deep corner
silhouettes of garden tools
waiting to fire, trim fresh growth
leaves of grass.

winter lost to constant storms
whatever’s there. magpie back with
accusing stare of malevolence.
clothes float as ghosts