在这里you will find thePoemFishof poet Larry Levis
The cop holds me up like a fish; he feels the huge bones surrounding my eyes, and he runs a thumb under them, lifting my eyelids as if they were envelopes filled with the night. Now he turns my head back and forth, gently, until I'm so tame and still I could be a tiny, plastic skull left on the dashboard of a junked car. By now he's so sure of me he chews gum, and drops his flashlight to his side; he could be cleaning a trout while the pines rise into the darkness, though tonight trout are freezing into bits of stars under the ice. When he lets me go I feel numb. I feel like a fish burned by his touch, and turn and slip into the cold night rippling with neons, and the razor blades of the poor, and the torn mouths on posters. Once, I thought even through this I could go quietly as a star turning over and over in the deep truce of its light. Now, I must go on repeating the last, filthy words on the lips of this shunken head shining out of its death in the moon? until trout surface with their petrified, round eyes, and the stars begin moving.
