Catch As Catch Can J. Johnson



Her sign showed Pisces as a shark,
Circling her ankle in slow motion.

Her sign grew from puddles of ink,
Her shark from static commotion,

Becoming when she bathes she bleeds
A red tied, a well-worked ocean,

Bearing her breath beneath,
A drowning sound caught in confusion.

Then some strange mist, written in wine:
Her blue-black nets all intertwined,

With angels, rocketing up from the edge,
Entangling her hands, her hair, her head,

As she sponges her thighs with sponges,
And tapping her shoes and undoes it.



J. Johnson chews Nicorette and drives a goddamn big car.



Typo Issue Two