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So, my friend, did you ever take a minute out of the long upstream
struggle to let it all flow past you, through you, over you, and
within you? Little hunter, I know you've heard the eerie thrum of the
million million fins all around; you've learned much by schooling, are
you in the mood yet to nudge your family gently homeward...?
Largemouth
fly
south.
The ice is appalling.
Your world is congealing.
The current is calling
from out past the ceiling.
Slamming your head against the roof again, buddy? Must be winter. So
unfair that they don't let you jump nowadays, isn't it? Maybe if you
feel around the underside of the frozen heavens long enough, you'll
find the way. Sing to us all when you do, that we may join and swim
together out there. Meanwhile, you know what to do when you see a
hole that's round and smooth, easy to find, compelling, and smelling
of minnows...
Make wish
game
fish.
Ascend when you will it.
Don't let the bait drag you.
Laugh at the skillet
that's begging to bag you.
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