fish recreation

Another of Amy's recreations -- this time we are fish.

Ollie gets outfitted:


shots may look like this?


fish like to strangle each other.


then pretend nothing happened.


I have six eggs in my fridge.


fish are like nazis.


did we get it?
uh...

and here is a poem I wrote at work:

//--

the cat's home is the cat

I have a good mechanic.
he looked at the engine,
put a hand on the carburetor --
pulled himself close, closer,
finally into the engine.

he shimmied past the crankshaft
and started swimming --
swam deep, past the battery,
piston and piston rings,
around and around the timing belt
out of sight behind the block.

the engine purred.
he said, "you have a problem."

my dentist had to pry my jaw wide,
to fit his boot, then his shoulders
down and into that dark place.
"I'll just be a little while,"
as he lifted up a fang
and locked it behind him, mumbling,

"this is a problem."

if I place my hands on your shoulders
and stand you opposite a problem,
you will always equal it, magnetically.

the cat (I'll never say "my" cat)
is slowly eating a bowl full of

brains. he wipes his mouth and says,
"I'm not in a good mood."

when I broke my wrist
you went wading
into solid matter -- a bone,
then climbed my skeleton, tiny,

the vine forest of veins --
swam the pumping rapids,
the hot water, the cold weather;
breath breath red blue.

a body made of filling chambers
like the earth is full of
packages, tidy for the toy store.

when you found the problem,
you said, "I've found a cat."

"Pull him out by the neck!
I'll eat four barking dogs!
lower them by their leashes down my throat!"
when I breathe I see birds fluttering,
and I always smell the hidden smells.

I will be your bear-filled cave,
I will be your broken clock,
I will weave my fingers into a rope,
and tie myself around you.