[ Poet Tributes ] Sometimes a wild cod
will leap out of the water
when you least expect it
smacking your bitch face up
with its tail.
A cod that is an odd kind of god
wearing suspenders of belief
while smoking coral reefer
in Bikini Bottom with his pet snail,
Who lives in a pineapple under
the sea? Fuck, I hope it's not me.
This poem is at home on the beach.
Nothing more than an Ocean front.
A shell game by a conch artist.
Bewaring, you should always be erring
on caution's side. The Age of Aquarium
has dawned. The Millennium has come
and gone, but the world? Never ended.
The sky? Didn't fall.
Don't trust a word of any poet's nonsense.
After all, they are as good as whale blow holes.
An epic fish tale can come gushing out
at any moment.
But upon further inspection, it's just chum.
Gills. Guts. Blood. Imitation crab meat.
More of the same red herring riling up
the sharks into a feeding frenzy.