Fishing

You fishing in the ensuing darkness?
Saturday night we will and hang out,
When we hang our rods high  in  air.

Our fishing is accomplished in flesh.
We fish troubled waters’ murky bog.
We hang  each others’ mud  boots high.

And then some bodies are no bodies.
We hang bodies to a no-body status
They ask I am nobody, who are you ?

(the beginning of a poem I am nobody, who are you ? by Emily Dickinson)

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