ETIOLATED

TROUT STREAMS

you shot me where i stood among the rye
— i collapsed into a muddy amber current among the trout instead
white flourishes of fins rushed thru my flaxen hair and moss scented fingers
and finally as i drifted upon the riverbed
(the trout's blood-red underbelly)
i could see the reflections in their frantic eyes
— dishevelled dress shirts strewn atop strange floorboards, crumpled bed sheets upon unfamiliar mattresses —
the bullet hole spilled a reddish copper dye
which soaked the fish, the stream —
the flowerbeds, upon which my heart spasmed
like trout drowning on a bed of flaming fuchsias
after they had burst from the cavity of my empty chest;
where soon wildflowers will flourish from the fertile loam of my flesh
where sparrows will play between the red deer's antlers of my rib cage
where field mice will burrow inside the bullet hole, make tunnels of my arteries and hollows inside my bones
my body will fester and spoil:
you've ruined me
the trout will blister and broil:
you've ruined them, too

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TO MY DARLING DEAREST,

i never was convinced of the idea that, in all of the world's oceans, all of its rivers, i was somehow your favourite. / that after choosing me, you had put your fishing rod down for good; / oh no, oh no, / you are simply too good at the sport! / and there are simply too many fish in the sea. / my darling dearest, i don't blame you. / it's my fault, after all. / i should never have let myself get hooked on the likes of you.

YOU ARE NOTHING BUT FISH BAIT TO ME NOW, SQUIRMING.

WITH LOVE

—TROUT STREAMS

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