RE-QUIT ALL

why fishermen would even use gondolas/ is not the first thing that makes you apprehensive/ nor that they keep dragging up half-decomposed bodies/ squirting out colors as if trying out/ for a francis bacon painting/ or that the gondolas are adrift on a sea

not noticeable as a sea/ unless you find it appropriate to keep calling a sea/ with no water in it, a sea/ but as it becomes clear that you are watching this/ not from underneath the jagged loggias/ with a sandwich in your hand/ but from the bottom of the sea/ it becomes hard to suppress your incredulity/or the ground then/ if you still contest that a sea with no water in it, can be called a sea/ you see the dry ripples/ where they throw their lines in/ hooks with no bait/ plunging and wavering like feathers towards you/ irresistible metal bits/ waltzing slowly to and fro/ landing with weighted certainty in your mouth/ so you think/ can i think/ and formulate resistance, spit/ but you already answer/ before you ask/ and can hear your question take place/ before the utterance is yours you bite, and you think/ can i still resist/ if i think/ can i remove this reality by thinking/ if i let this sea be my mind / the millions of bodies bleeding colors/ ideas/as in, i drift upwards to wake up/ into the air, if the sea is not a sea and so forth/ and think, i do not find myself puzzled/ as your legs and arms drop off/ and let out streams of paint and oily residues/ where does it go/ and what will the gondoliers do with all the bodies