Sermon of an Elder Catfish from Issue 60
Watch where you’re going, boys─
Light doesn;t dance down here.
Our eyes grow big as half-dollars,
But we still can’t see a fucking thing.
Whiskers, lead the way, pull our bellies
Across the muck we make out beds in,
Steer us clear of the troubles
That shake through the world,
Especially those fast-talking gar,
Their loose lips and flash of gold teeth.
We don’t want any trouble here─
Your skins are slick for a reason.
Depth is the key, gentlemen─if
They can’t find us, they can’t catch us.
I don’t care what those heathen trout say:
The surface is not our home. Heaven
Isn’t above us, the sun on our backs,
Rainbows bursting from our sides.
Heaven is deep, it’s back and cold,
It’s still. Heaven is everywhere
Everyone else is afraid.
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