Randy Prunty


I realized but said nothing
feeling hurtled. Feeling thrown back in.
Expecting a reward I unstuck my sucker.

You must think I lean toward pendulums.
Fish might think I know only the can opener.

Eyes tell lies in caves
to pretend they still have something to do.
Blotchy but trembling half as much I
wonder what it feels like.

We should all wake and sleep so lucky.
Like cave sharks giving their body to the rock
to seal the crypt and lapidify their bones.

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West Virginia sticks its toe
into Kentucky. Fish eat snails
and I prefer duckweed to aloe.

I may have been in rehab
during the breakup of the supercontinent.
I wouldn't want to please everybody.
Pet fish, even Darwin.

When America creeped
I handed you tails and antlers round and pronged.
You, in turn, something like a struggle.
Do what's good for you
but this eating and being eaten is consuming us both.

Naturally, the recycling plant is unattended at this hour.
I've been led down to the soot of it all,
you need to know, where game fish play
animated zoom-ins and regular fish get hot, fertilize.
This is Shig and he's here to see our coolers.

How do the moose get past the guards at night?
I draw little duck feet in my notebook
and sing from your balcony: Hail the species,
though colossal, through Appalachian apertures.

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