It’s not that words just end up there suddenly
with the force and gravity of pure existence,
but against the current, hook still shimmering
in the bloody water because the mind does openly

and so do the bodies inside of me generate
a certain bliss beneath inspection. The cost
of sinking is no larger than being reeled
in by the other. Disengaging never

works. The body still runs into itself,
no matter how you work it. What seems despair
is never coming to terms with river or sadness,
the words themselves avoided and coolly shelved

next to God and light, though personally
I’d do better without shelves or hooks
still wanting to see words unhinged eternally.


Philip Jenks