Gutting Bluegill In a Storm

Cod-fodder, grey weather, Bluegill blood
smeared on the chop-boards, a dark pond smell
of mud, rain and grass from the quick-slit belly.

Thunder disturbing the walls, the downstroke
precipitous cleave disengaging body from head;
flashes of bright, crooked needles piercing

through cloth. Gem-like beads shaved from
the flesh, glinting white, silver and red
in a scored metal pot of entrails and gills

as storm clouds digest the leftover light.

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