by James H Duncan
great dead whales full of bones
lie praying with the sun breaking in
through briny teeth
the holy fisherman cannot hook us all
some seek to rot in the belly
rather than fry in the pan
and the cool waters are long ago gone,
the tide in remembrance, hurts,
knee deep, waves clasped
those great dead whales full of bones
decaying with the sunlight in their guts
*Originally appeared in Duncan’s chapbook The Darkest Bomb, part of the Lantern Lit Series from Dog on a Chain Press.
James H Duncan is the editor of Hobo Camp Review, a former editor with Writer’s Digest, and the author of Dead City Jazz, Berlin, What Lies In Wait, and other collections of poetry and fiction. For more visit www.jameshduncan.com.