I Work With Retarded Fish When I Am Not Catching People Watching Me Poem by James McLain

Hunger is fasting always eating bubbles asking
for a people stick on which to chew.
Leaking tears of spice to mellow tast of you.
Sitting on a bay of sunken docks sniffing reused
questions fixing clocks flakes of mind floating by
a big deluge.
Baby fish in fluid takes no druid stones where
crazy people seem to lay angle fish swimming
close to shore hooked up with you.
Even a retarded fish can bend the rule floating
in a sea bent ruler way to fat to throw you back.