You know those gladiators
with the fishnets and tridents?
Those nets are weighted, right?
I think one is layered over me,
dragging me down to the dust
grime in my mouth can’t spit
it out     muscles are mush
bones are old and heavy
reach for the trident
can I lift myself?


Ode to the Best Poem I Ever Wrote

I wrote a poem in the notebook
of my dreams and of course
assumed I’d remember
it in the morning because,
obviously, it was that good.

It had something to do with sharks,
no, martens, or was it electric eels?
It was one of my best, I promise.