We fished for carp whose flesh would never find
out lips, the bottom feeds fathers said to kill.
We fished at night with bloody bait designed
to draw them up from river mid. Our will
was to possess a life not ours, to make
those glowing spirit bodies understand
our need for blood spilled simply for the sake
of what we thought it took to be a man.
I'll never understand that rage we knew,
that knife that someone gouged into the eyes
of carp we caught but didn't think to do
the killing right, and wasted lives despised
for reasons lost now in the blur of days.
Not boys, but something darker, something crazed.