DESERT TROUT A poem by Duke DesRochers
Completely ship me, sailing out;
About the brow of Desert Trout.
With fins of glass and salmon doubt.
Aboard her lofty hull of skull,
I feel the draw of the pull.
I taste myself; and find it dull.
Soft boney combs of skeletal fish.
Fathoms deep will crush and squish,
Where rocks and sticks can only wish.
Cool Raybans rest upon the nose.
The rotting smell of tuna rose;
In misty plumes of wingless crows.
Do you suppose?
To shed your scales in tidbit wails;
With trinkets, stones and bones?
The sands will swallow
All who follow.
While maggots calculate the end…