It’s the “Big Fish” everyone
exaggerates about—oh, the
languish; oh, the hyperbole—

but that’s the exact fish they all want;
that’s the exact fish they all wish to be—

’til they’re hook’d ’n cook’d

caught ’n crucified

(it’s odd they claim not to be cannibals, because)

they act
like they’ve
never tasted
caviar.

The essential problem with being
human, is having a mouth that can say
anything, or maybe a body that
rarely follows through, trailed
by a brain which harbors shame,
though when in the lead it’s all
reversed—

still, with a skin porous and
thin, and a heart on the run,
arrested with longing—

the antithesis of this,
makes it so much more
than worth it