Eyeball, golden eye..eye, Innes’ fishbowl looks at ‘Goldie’ Fisch, flatly swimming, looking (seeing, –?) through glass, rhymes with..SASS, don’t back-sass! you, um, you, –uh-oh, poetry!! have, some respect..for your elders, thee elder poet’s (bad dog’s! sic ’em!!) The glass, holding the water bright, clear, contained all in a mass, unified waves wiggles light about the goldfish’s liquid..flight! suspended, jiggly translucent boun-daries, seeing, fish-eye lenses, –electro-magnetic forces flow – from somewhere – in wires to coil copperhead bursting telephone’s bell..bubbles! does FISH hear it ring? at liberty, in his lil ol’ world, his make-believe kingdom, in the sea?? Si??? See, I’ve had these questions for some time, on my mind, but never gotten ’em answered..yet! I worked around food, once, around the clock, –I rocked, part time surfer, see? sea rider! when I was younger with no hair on my chinny chin-chin and was bunk-mates with ‘Humphrey’ up north in nineteen-eighty-five (we resided down at Neptune’s Youth Hostel, in thee inne together, til he split for a jag east up the ‘Sacramento’..and they couldn’t turn him ’round, –“NOW DON’T YOU LET THE POLITICIANS..TURN YOU ‘ROUND, TURN YOU ‘ROUND, TURN YOU ‘ROUND! NOW DON’T YOU, LET THE POLITICIANS, TURN YOU ‘ROUND, MARCHIN’ IN THE FREEDOM BA-A-AND..A-hem!”) So, –But I was told, then, to do that (the food service) I must wear a hair-net, it’s the law! Wot? Goldfish swimming in eyeballs ocean, oceans ballroom seems to understand..a net! a net, placed meticulously on one’s head, Annette, can only send ah, a message: TODAY you will not find a hair in your precious soup or goldfish’s bowl, Whoop-dee-doop-dee-doop! our ancestral hole, at Anathoth – Loop-da-loop – here’s her LAGOON! “Shoo-bop! shoo-bop! WHOO!” where lawyers came from (primordial broth); and – Kennedy said it once – “If one is enslaved, then all are not free.” JFK..See? So what then? should we all be wearing our goverrment hair-nets be-cause of the flu? the asiaTIC flu?? so it won’t spread, even on a thin slice of nice and sturdy, grainy white/wheat bread (to me&you); or, like a whale will we be, for-ever caught..in Annette? i wonder. Bach’s fishbowl contained no fish, but a (infinite) variety of musical notations in abundance, there, swimming in his fat, bar-o-quee head he, the leading Kapellmeister, put’em all down on paper..whale of a score them was, –Saint John’s Passion, for one, ’nuff said? Well..Alexander’s ragtime naval forces band found their way, THERE! where bam-boo orientals’ rickety boats wantonly sailed thee uncharted waters in nasty&foul weather’s a-like and beat the Hindoo’s there, thee Injuns (but no squalls); but in the end it killed um, –like they always do. Simply put his golden goldfish brain could not contain all of Persia’s charms, and schemes – he held some in his arms (perchance, dream) – to forge his worldly kingdom, bought through a new bloodline..with fancy wives THAT was the plan; and never again to see the Athenians’ coast he loved so dear, –he was a sort of god to all of them..Greeks! (he said so, and they said, “Yeah whatever whatever works..Dude”); and that same failure, of identity I suppose, was one of Caesar’s, too..in a sense. Senses lie, kings lie; rugs, the Persian rugs, they do lie, and so do I, I lie – I lie like a rug (Pers’an my lips!) – ‘neath the hostile searing sun that regards me not! no, not ’til the battle’s won, except to get me a sunburn and not a tan, why! because I-europeancaucasiancolony-boy, born ‘n’ bread, of corn..of course! corn-bred..like I said. And even, if CAREFULLY under sun’s rays like roasting marshmallow’s (courtesy of Egyptians and their, hole-istic healing scien-ces, on a shtick, Oy!) I turn not swarthy and brown, like they..like the suntan-products-for-sultans ad’s suggest (or imply); but burst in flames and blacken! as was the case, legendary! so to speak, of the un-prison’d Icarus, Son of Dedaluszilla, ex-caped! box-kiting it, with flaming arrows whizzing by on cool afternoon’s summer breeze, and crash-landing, “Summer breeze, makes me feel fine!” in the Mediterranean, –see? on the rocks, what! WHY? ’cause wings of wax will not do, no! no, never, not for me, and not for YOU! the hot wax, the hot AMARICAN wax. Well, that’s it..let’s end this doggerel now, once and for all (for now..for all you poet dogs), and go and visit, a Z00! and see the animals, including snakes there, –their all, like..wow. [Sic]