Kate Potts

From the unfathomed, farthest away from the light, from the sea’s iron guardedness they come — pin-eyed, with flesh like tree bark. Their jaws are gorgeously spiked, ragged with toothpick teeth, goon teeth, prison-bar teeth. O anglerfish, vampire fish, oarfish, goonch. A strange fish holds himself upright and fast to the park railings. He is white knuckled. His eyes focus upwards as if counting or reciting, tugging at the brain’s stubborn pinions. When you ask if there’s somewhere he needs to get to, he only sets his jaw harder. You both know that if he acknowledges you, he’ll fall. Every one of your dreams is about the president, however tangentially. Each morning, 
pre-waking, mucid insects seem to attach themselves to your collarbone and gnaw in at the marrow. What if we could all say whatever came first to mind, whenever we wanted to? No perusal.Scullion! Arse-wipe! Warp-faced pignut! Invincible as a body that’s snug in the womb. What if we could all get whatever we wanted, whenever — as in the fairy tale? On the beach at Marazion the surf is spangled with mackerel scales. The sands heave with stranded bodies, underwater silver bullets, drying and curling up in the winter light, so close to home.