Monday, 2 April 2012


i threaded the line though his shoes, the lead pellets proving hard to get past the holes i considered sewing them over his lips so he could taste what the swans taste the rod taped to his back the reel and excess line taken home for my piano, the one in the back room that faces out onto the garden the hooks holding the fingers together for webbed feet then slowly lowered into the river, clothes filling with water the chest afloat as i sat by the fire he slipped away like that fake actress from biblical times or the horse in that film i cant remember.