A bliss fisherman






A bliss fisherman.
A bliss fisherman!
Fishing for bliss.

What kind of fisherman
fishes for bliss
and not
for a fish?

It's not the bliss,
bliss-fish he seeks.
It's just bliss,
bliss, bliss.

Casting his line out
in to the deep.
Drawing it back up
with a wish.

It's the bliss,
bliss fisherman.
Fishing the deep,
deep sea.

But he goes out never,
never outside.
He fishes deep,
deep within he.

He sits alone
gazing out
or gazing

The bliss,
bliss fisherman
fishing his
inward sea.

What kind of debris
does he pull out
from that murky,
murky sea?

What does he do
with it then?
When it's not bliss
he finds?

Does he take it
in his mind?

Or does he
discard it there?
And a pile
on the beach
pulled up from
the darker places
of his deep,
deep, deep sea.

What does he do
with the debris
when he does not
find bliss?

Maybe he
recycles it there.
On his boat
by the sea.

Maybe he
builds homes with it.
A seaside resort
made of debris.

But he keeps,
keeps fishing there.
Keeps fishing
that sea.

One day I hope he'll bring
it forth.
The bliss he so,
so, so seeks.

What will he do if he finds it there?
Deep beneath the sea.
Will he bring it and share it with us
or will he quietly, quietly feed.

Sitting at home,
eating his bliss,
all done with
the sea.

Then he may
go to bed
and the sea
may be unseen.

Will he just
disappear then?
Long done
with the sea.

Or, will he
share with us
the bliss,
bliss he has seen.


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