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I am the fisher with my feet hanging over the dock,
My baseball cap fitted perfectly, and eyes wondering,
My cares are only the bait at the other end of this line,
My issues being the hook that snatches the life of my prey,
But nothing has been biting, tricked into my dilemmas.
My eyes gaze across the water at the boats speeding by,
The fastest thing I own is a kayak in my small shed;
I don't even own a single oar to paddle myself with.
I am the coursing fish taking nothing serious but nothing,
Hot days don't exist, but cold nights come often.
There is a shimmer in the shallow water, i swim to it,
Sealing my fate as ignorance hooks into my jaw.
I am the sailboat with the ripped sail and no captain,
The crab without claws to snap at distant danger,
The fish-line swaying in the water, retreating, going,
Swaying yet again until I am blind sighted by teeth.
I am the dock. Come to me. Bring your worries,
And cast them on a line and let the fish get their fill.
Swing your feet off of me and watch sunsets.
Come to me, I will always be here, I shall not move.





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