What if I tell you             no one has ever caught a fish?
What if I tell you             a fish chooses its hook to know what it is
to be acted upon by the gravity?          Writhe as a pendant on the proletariat
necklace of the sea.       What if I tell you there are deplorable ways of killing
a fish than make a medallion out of it? What if I tell you
a fish out of water         dies not because of homesickness
but because there is no home. What if I tell you
the fish searches the nook and corals of the water to find
the hook? What if I tell you fishes complain about the ergonomics
of the hook? What if I tell you      they feel the hook is not personalized
enough for them?      What if I tell you      it means the hook does not fit
in the space provided for?        Fails to dislodge
the occipital lobes. What if I tell you I am committing the same
error I am accusing you of        when I say fishes instead of a fish?
What if I tell you it is ok to lower the mercy of a hook
into the water? What if I tell you the fish prefers the air’s cutlass
to the water’s vehemence?             What if I tell you this has got nothing
to do with the benthic horror you may have had as a kid? What if I ask you
to drop a bottle of ink into a battle of water but suggest that you
imagine biphenyl poly chloride in the place of ink?
What if I tell you the fish is fluent with your terms.