Supper Club

On the bottom of the ocean
the fish have lost use
of their eyes and their blood
is clear.

So often their handshakes
lack feeling and the emphasis
is on an exchange of rolodex
cards, a casual drink.

Jawless seafloor dwellers
terrified of even a hint of daylight
like flies around a heat vent
glowing in the dark.

They speak a language of numbers
and back-alley lust.
They squint from high levels
of mercury.

Cannibalism: a natural tendency stronger
than caffeinated altruism, prevalent in groups,
affection is a lure, bringing it all closer
to the surface, the windswept sidewalk
of the open ocean.