Why are there so many poems about goldfish?

It’s not as if they speak to us of some tequila

moonscape lost to sense, though the telepathy

of our own hand-coded secrets might. Python

Technology integrates our systems more

effectively, overruns us like mice. To bolt

a metal bar to a sandstone wall and fear the

sheets tied end-to-end will cornuscate a sheer

drop defibrillates louche timefields within the shrill

carapace of our deep down landlords. Inevitably we

besot them and find no end to love but not to truth.

Arguing for the personal address you suggest

your face in a fish tank bobbing like an apple

I can’t just get my teeth around. Swimming

happily in your broad sea of alcohol,

words that sound similar but are spelt differently

stalk you like Dentistry. You want to turn them

on creates a sequel for fibroid differentiation,

the whippet of rotting floorboards and bilge

cocktails Makes like James Bond in that film

about diving underwater / leaving your first love

to drown in a rough cut fundraising trailer

while all the domesticated carp you can eat still

chair you like fields of electro-con workers, their

long blond hair and super-ramified orange overalls

Spread Eagled Energy Green spelling I KNOW

WHAT YOU LIKE, daisies and hydrangeas and all

sorts of flowery things like that.