left peerless, like the file clerk.
No man is a man until he buys a diamond first.
Ugh, this lie has left me with a fishwife in the sack
with no way of throwing her back.
So where from here do the exiled go?
How long live the shark without salt?
The oar afloat above the sunken boat?
So plum at first glance was she
(unaware of the plastic surgery),
and how wild and alive were those eyes,
so much that I began to lionize.
But the moon crumbled as layers peeled,
chunks of stale days landing on my time machine.
Maybe I shouldn’t have cast my line.
Maybe she shouldn’t have bit my bait.