There are fish in the black trenches
of the sea that look like rocks.
Their poison shouldn’t trouble me.
They are so deep, we’ll never touch.
But I think of them. If it is paranoid
to believe there is a trench in me
the doctors haven’t dragged,
a cave no one’s plumbed with light,
then fine, I’m paranoid. But whatever
plaques and tangles, whatever cells
wait deadly with their terrible hunger
must be disguised. You should know
the most venomous fish lives
in the shallows. It also looks like a rock.
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