“Appearances, appearances,”
he said he said,
with dilated eyes
and dream-coated head.

He casts his hook into a shallow bay
with no strings attached,
and no bait in which to believe.

Cast and reel, cast and reel,
the emptiness is all he feels.

He goes home empty-
handed once again,
explaining the pricey
price tags with
air cupped hands
and blue-blanket skies
to cover his lonely
lullaby demands.

Hook, line, and sink,
hooks, lines, and sinks
dressing himself up
in all that he thinks.

He sits at the table
to cope with his lies
resorting to torpid desperation
between unwritten lines.

He looks at the shelf
of books unread
and wonders of the
different lives he could have lead.

“Appearances, appearances,”
he said he said;
hand-combing hairs
and scratching his head.

“Appearances, appearances,”
he said he said.
“It wasn’t for my sins
that he bled.”