Mate and Die

The Blasphemer, William Blake

Are like postmodern poets
Returning to the Sargasso Sea
To mate and die but, as of now,
Are still here tormenting
Us with their tiny mouths,
Too small for most hooks
And quite the unlucky catch,
With their snake-like body tangling
Itself in a line, their slime
Making quite the mess,
But will make well enough bait
Pulled over the side of the bridge
And throttled into the concrete
Until they’re unconscious.