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Poem Number 22997
you photographed me mid-sentence, mouth
wide open, hoping to make a point
you shot first, never asked questions
I should have sharpened my spear
but it was too late, the flash went off
and the thought had disappeared
you cut the line, the hook
still in that fish, a line of red blood drawn
across its wake. predators blink into the light.
the bow, the break, the stern,
the waves crashing aft and starboard,
the stars barely understood,
and not enough to guide us by,
and there I stood,
with mouth opened wide
thanks o, looks great. -c
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