Monday, June 19, 2017


Oilfish in the tanker cars : like a glass-bottomed
boat but seeing nothing. There was one time, at
Cannery Row. I was there, in California; in fact
it was Monterey. Just bumming. Had stayed a
few days in an abandoned warehouse and pier
with three other guys, two from San Francisco, 
and one on the run from Carmel-by-the-Sea, 
where Clint Eastwood was Mayor, he said.
Then, one morning, I'd scratched up enough,
like eight bucks I think, to go down in a
Bathysphere. So I went. It could have been
touristy, but thankfully wasn't  -  a rainy 
mornng, no others around, none of that.
It's just a big tub, with thick glass windows. 
It hangs from a hoist or something and they 
lower it down, whatever the depth of the bottom
is  -  I can't remember here, maybe it was a
hundred feet, maybe more. Because of the dank
day not much light was coming down  -  kind
of all gray , and almost opaque. Some fish, some
weeds, things floating by. The fish were cool,
the place seemed serene, waterworld, enticing.
I thought maybe they could cut the chain, or
unhitch me there, leave me lowered, until the 
air ran out. I'd promised them already,
I wouldn't tell a soul...

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