Feeling Sorry for Myself at the Shedd Aquarium, Chicago


Two big lobsters scuttle hard against each other, thorny and

heavy-mitted, until Dull-Blue


finally whips Greenish-Brown. Obscured in the baroque

curlicues of his own sad, sorry


silt, the loser flexes himself rapidly backwards. Rejected,

the octopus tints pink


with shame. Pouting, the clownfish drifts off, blotched

blue and cursed like me


with a permanent yellow smile. That’s how it goes, either

benthic or up here breathing


free oxygen: feckless, fuckless and a dime short.

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