a river runs with Lactic Acid

and I stand
as if a fisherman, inbetween two shores
that can not love the Baleous Rocks that work for them;

those spires of callous skin; stained and marked and cut
marble soft wept in the Employee bathroom
from being stressed. The rocks Sessile in the tide as porous
statues have dissolved into vague cadavers;

that acid flows between their channels, focused,
frustrated, and sobbing violently out of love
or desperation at my chest and it washes
over me in one crushing wave and I am

swept beneath

incapable of waiting for my one great catch.